


The Sequel You Need

by K_Robe



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: 80's Music, Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bi-Curiosity, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gen, Horny Teenagers, Love Triangles, Secret Identity, Spoilers, Teen Romance, Teenage Drama, Unofficial Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-11-29 06:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11434980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Robe/pseuds/K_Robe
Summary: Spoilers for Spider-Man: Homecoming.Everything should be going great for Peter Parker. But, par for the course, beating the bad guy (sort of) and getting the girl (except not really) isn't where it ends. In fact, his life just seems to be getting a whole lot worse, especially since everyone and their mother are starting to figure out who he is underneath the mask. But maybe, just maybe, this might be a blessing in disguise. And it might give Peter the support he desperately needs.-She adjusts her headband. “Maybe… we call the Daily Bugle?”“No!” a voice shouts out. “Don’t do that!”Betty and Cindy yelp as they fall backwards in surprise, looking up at the dark ceiling and painting it with their flashlights. Sticking to the ceiling is someone in red-and-blue-colored tights, his eyes seeming to shrink and widen as they focus their lights on him.“Uh,” Spider-Man says. “Please?”





	1. Once Bitten

“What the fuck?”

Peter knows that he’s an unlucky guy. Every success in his life is almost immediately followed by some sort of strange cosmic comeuppance, like the universe is eternally determined to keep him from having just one good day. Take, for example, the current situation that good Mr. Parker finds himself in. Right after being the better man and taking the high road and leaving the super cool advanced suit that Mr. Stark had built him (not to mention _not becoming an Avenger_ \- as in officially, on paper, and in front of the press), Peter decides to try on his suit so that he can have some, I dunno, coming full circle-type thing. He was just going to look at himself in the mirror and think something like, _This is my gift, my curse. Who am I? I’m Spider-Man_.

It was going to be _so_ cool.

But, of course, Aunt May just had to roll in at that exact moment. He didn’t even get to finish the thought, which he’s more than a little miffed about. But as soon as May exclaims a statement so full of bewilderment and anger (in a way that only a concerned parental figure can), all of Peter’s fears about his secret identity are immediately confirmed. Every horror scenario where his aunt - bless her soul - forces Peter to stop his superheroics plays through his mind and Peter does about the only thing he can do when forced to face a threat like this.

He turns around and bolts out the window, not even giving May the chance to say anything further. “Gotta go, May!” he shouts as he puts on his mask. “Got web-slinging duties and arsons to stop and cats to save from trees!” Peter scrambles onto the wall of the apartment, crawling as fast as he can down towards the street.

He shoots a web towards one of the nearby lampposts and swings from it, but it buckles underneath the force of Peter’s swing. Peter realizes a little too late that he miscalculated the angle by which he should’ve fired off the web, which leads to Peter dragging out into the middle of the street and almost smashing into the headlights of a Honda Civic. Thankfully, he rolls out of the way at the last second, breathing a sigh of relief as he lays on the sidewalk. Less thankfully, the lamppost gives way and falls towards the street, slamming onto the hood of the Civic and crushing it. The man inside the car yells some expletives as Peter wisely decides to run away, this time a little more careful about where he’s placing his web shots.

Peter looks behind him at the apartment building he’d lived in all his life. May’s looking at him with a distraught expression - a combination of anger, concern, and disappointment - as she watches him make a mess of things yet again. He curses under his breath as he continues towards the train station, catching a ride atop the R train, sticking to its ridged roof, uncertain but steady.

He takes one final glance at his apartment building. It’s far away now and he can’t see May too clearly, but somehow her smoldering gaze still pierces through to Peter’s guts, making him feel queasy.

He is _so_ dead when he gets home.

\--

Tony Stark feels good. He feels _real_ good. Two months ago, if you’d told him that he would be proposing to Pepper Potts on live television, he’d have murdered you in your sleep. For a brief moment as he holds Pepper’s hand, he gazes between her beautiful face and the clouds outside the window of his private plane. It feels like all is right in the world, but getting back together with Pepper and finally tying the knot brings a pang of guilt that he isn’t expecting. He can’t help but think about what he had to do to get to this point. Signing the Sokovia Accords was a drastic step, one that Rhodey was all too willing to lose his life for. But Tony doesn’t know if he believes in them as much as his best friend does, and the haunting specter of Steve Rogers’ battered face in the back of his mind is enough to send chills up his spine.

Pepper squeezes his hand and he’s brought back from the brink. He whips his head toward her and he gives her a gentle smile.

“You okay?” she asks, mirroring the smile on his face.

“Well, we just got engaged so… yeah. Feeling about as best as Tony Stark can feel at any given moment.” He grins a little more widely and Pepper laughs. Yeah, things are going to work out. He can feel it. “You know, I have great plans for the wedding.”

“Oh God, no. Tony, we don’t need to rush into wedding planning just yet.” Pepper’s face is an echo of all the stress she’d had to endure over the PR fallout of the Sokovia Accords and the attack on the Avengers Tower outgoing shipment, not to mention having to explain to the building’s buyers that, yes, the immense skyscraper is still the most secure high-rise in Manhattan. As good as she feels right now, just _thinking_ about what will in most probability be a terrifyingly expensive wedding might make her explode.

“No, no, no,” Tony rushes to say. “I’ve got the _perfect_ place we can get married.”

“Tony, I swear to God if you rent out the Sistine Chapel or something-”

“Nothing like that. Although now that you mention it, that idea isn’t half-bad.” Tony places a hand under his chin like he’s thinking.

“Tony!”

“Although I’d have to completely remodel the security system, install some infrared sensors. You never know if the Ten Rings or some aliens might start attacking, so the Iron Legion probably needs to show up. Might as well have Damage Control on standby in case the ceiling caves in or something.” At this point, Tony’s grinning like a madman. “It wouldn’t be a _terrible_ idea to just outright _buy_ the Sistine Chapel, would it?

Pepper looks like she’s about to keel over. In all her years of knowing Tony Stark, she could never be sure if the man was ever joking. Thankfully, Tony’s phone rings just in the nick of time, saving her from having to chastise her fiance for his oft-ludicrous spending habits. Looking a little bit annoyed, Tony looks at his phone.

“Ah, it’s from the kid,” Tony says.

“Parker?” Pepper intones.

“Yeah,” he says. “Seriously, he needs to learn that the suit has its own in-built communications system. I spent, like, five minutes making that. Which is five minutes of my life I could’ve spent making coffee or something.”

Tony answers the phone as Pepper rolls her eyes. “Hey kid, are you already having trouble with the suit? Did I forget to press it before I sent it to you?” Tony chuckles at his own joke, but Peter’s lack of immediate response worries him a little. “Parker?”

“Tony Stark!” yells a very angry and very _female_ voice from across the line. It’s so loud that Pepper can hear and Tony has to move the phone away from his ear for fear of permanent hearing damage.

“Oh, shit,” Tony says.

“Who gave you the right, who gave you the authority to turn my son into Spider-Man?” demanded May. “He’s _fifteen_ years old! Fifteen! I know you were already going to MIT when you were that age, but Peter Parker is an ordinary boy. Smart, brilliant, but _ordinary_! You turned him into Spider-Man! Do you know how dangerous that is? How _irresponsible_?”

Tony begins to sweat as Pepper tries her best to tune out of the angry woman’s tirade. “Listen, May. I was only helping the kid along-”

“Helping him? _Helping_ him? You could’ve helped him by telling him that it was a _bad_ idea to become a superhero!” The shrieking is loud and Happy, who is snoring across the aisle, is almost stirred from his sleep. “You superheroes spend all your time screwing around and wrecking public property and fighting supervillains. Your inventions are going to get my nephew killed, Stark! Dead, gone, buried in the ground!”

“May, it really isn’t that bad,” Tony says. “The kid already had superpowers. That’s how I found about him-”

“Stark, you better listen to me this instant. I want you to cease-” Tony clamped his hand over the phone’s speakers and turned to Pepper with the eyes of a man in panic.

“Who is that?” she asks.

“The kid’s unusually attractive aunt,” Tony mumbles.

“What?”

“Kidding! I’m kidding.” He holds up his ring finger. “Look, engaged!”

“Ugh, Tony…”

“What do I do?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” asks Pepper with genuine bewilderment.

“I mean, what do I do? I fight supervillains and have a great love life. I don’t know how to deal with crazy aunts that have superpowered kids.” Tony’s eyes become even more desperate for an answer.

“Stark!” shouts May, audible even through Tony’s clamped fingers. “Are you listening to me?”

“Give it to me,” Pepper says, gesturing with her hands.

“Are you sure?” Tony asks, his turn to be bewildered. “You don’t know this lady. She could murder you with an overcooked meatloaf.”

“She’s mad at you, not me.”

“Only for the moment,” Tony mumbles.

“Do you trust me or not?” Pepper asks, gesturing a little more urgently.

“Is that a trick question?” Tony can’t help but say, though he quickly hands her the phone. She composes her voice quickly.

“Hello, hi,” Pepper begins warmly. “May, my name is Pepper Potts. I’m the CEO of Stark Industries.”

“Is Tony hiding behind his employees now? Is he too scared to talk to me?”

Pepper can’t help but chuckle a little at that, much to Tony’s chagrin. “Yes, May. He is scared to talk to you.” Tony gives her a “come on” look, before crossing his arms and turning his gaze back towards the plane window. Pepper continues, “Anyway, Peter is much safer now.”

“Safer?” May’s tone makes it obvious that she doesn’t believe Pepper.

“From how I understand it,” Pepper says. “Peter accidentally got bitten by some sort of radioactive genetically-engineered spider… thing.” It’s Tony’s turn to roll his eyes and, uncharacteristically, keeps his mouth shut. “And Peter was already running around being Spider-Man for six months-”

“Six _months_?!” May exclaims. Tony looks at Pepper with an “I told you so” expression. Pepper wisely decides to ignore her fiance.

“May, listen,” Pepper urges once more. “Peter Parker was never going to stop being a superhero. From everything Tony’s told me, he’s a terrific kid and a great person. Which means-”

“He was going to keep doing it regardless of whether or not you showed up to help,” May concludes, her words slowing down.

“That’s right,” Pepper says. “We’re… helping him out. Giving him some Avengers-level equipment. Keeping him _safer_ than he would be otherwise.”

May is quiet for a moment. “Are you sure he wouldn’t have stopped?”

Pepper doesn’t have a response ready, but Tony does. He gestures for the phone back. Pepper looks at him with a skeptical expression, but hands the phone to Tony anyway. “May,” he said. “Remember when I barged into your house a few months ago and I asked for five minutes with Peter? He told me something. Something like, ‘If you can do the things that I can, then you don’t. And then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.’”

May sounds like she’s been struck by lightning, her voice hitching in the back of her throat. Tony purses his lips. “May, you doing alright there?”

“Ben,” she seems to whisper.

“What?”

“Nothing, I-” May stops. “Fine. But I’m still going to scold him when he gets home.”

“Sure thing,” Tony says in relief, happy not to be the object of her consternation. “Tough love is pretty important for kids growing up-” The line goes dead and Tony stares at his phone. “I think a suburban single aunt just hung up on me. That _never_ happens.”

Pepper laughs, squeezing Tony’s hand again. “I think we’re all due for some changes in our lives.”

Happy snores loudly, which causes Tony to crack a wide grin. “I guess so.”

\--

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did he put his suit on without closing the door? Now he’s in this mess and everything is going wrong again. He sighs as he shoots a webline off the subway underpass, swinging towards the old neighborhood. He needs to find something to do, some crime to foil, or maybe another conspiracy to discover.

Peter swings toward his high school. It’s the first place he thinks of going and he supposes that there isn’t really a better place to start swinging around than somewhere he knows really well. Peter kinda hated the place for a while there, especially after his trip to Berlin. He felt like the place was stifling him, stopping him from being who he was meant to be. But now that he’s in this post-Vulture, post-Liz, post-Avengers mindset, he can’t help but start to feel a little more appreciative of the place. It’s home, after all, and he’s got friends. Sort of.

Speaking of friends, he spies blonde hair and a hairband when he goes by the parking lot. He sticks to the wall all stealthy-like and observes her for a moment. What is she doing still at school? It’s like six o’clock at night. Extra duties for the broadcasting club? That would certainly explain why she’s carrying a load of equipment into the building. Peter decides it’s kind of creepy for him to be observing her, but he keeps doing it anyway because he’s curious.

“Peter, you’re being creepy,” intones Karen, the suit-lady.

“Karen, please,” Peter said. “If I was being creepy, I’d be telling you to record this right now.”

“I _am_ recording this right now.”

“...not the point,” Peter mumbles.

“I sense your hormone levels and blood pressure rising slightly,” Karen says. “She _is_ cute, Peter.”

“Also not the point!”

Yes, Peter does think and has thought that Betty Brant is kind of cute, though he really felt like blonde hair and a hairband didn’t suit her as well as other people did. Peter thinks that that sort of gleefully innocent-type appearance would have been better for some other person, but whatever. Peter tracks her as she moves across the parking lot, carrying a heavy bag.

“I wonder what’s in her bag,” Peter says under his breath.

“I can x-ray it for you, if you’d like,” Karen says without losing a beat.

“Oh man, you can do that?” Peter responds. “Then, yeah. Of course! Do that! Just do it in a non-creepy way. For investigative purposes. You know, to make sure that these youths aren’t partaking in anything illegal. Yeah.”

“Initializing x-ray.” Karen activates the suit’s… or Peter supposes that _he_ activates the suit’s x-ray feature, zooming in on the backpack. Aside from makeup and accessories and… are those extra hairbands? Whatever, anyway… there’s some suspiciously massive metal thing in there. Something with corks and screws and corkscrews. Regardless, it’s _big_. Which probably explains why Betty looks like she’s having a hard time lugging it around in a bag.

“Uh, Karen? What am I looking at? Because that doesn’t look like AV equipment to me.”

“I do believe that it’s an FDNY standard-issue automatic car jack.”

“Car jack?” Peter wonders. “You mean those things that you put under a car so you can slide underneath it and check it for oil leaks and stuff?”

“That would be correct,” Karen says in a chipper tone, like she’s glad that Peter is able to figure out something so simple.

“What would she be doing with something like that?” Peter says aloud. “I better find out. Not to be creepy, of course. Just… yeah.” He starts to crawl down, following Betty at a distance as she enters the building.

\--

“This is a terrible idea,” Betty says, dragging the car jack behind her. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Because I’m such a good friend!” Cindy says. “Aren’t you just the littlest bit curious about why we found Peter’s clothes just lying there in the hallway, _right before_ Spider-Man showed up? I asked Ned about it and he said that Peter just likes to _streak_. Can you believe that? Can you believe that Peter Parker _streaks_?”

Betty doesn’t say anything because the mental image makes her blush. And because, honestly, she wouldn’t mind if Peter _does_ streak… if only for the image. Honest.

“Betty?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. No. No, of course not.” She scratches her head. “But why the car jack?”

“Because I saw Ned rifling around underneath the lockers like he was hiding something down there.”

The hallways of the school are dark at night and the cleaning staff have gone home, so the two are traveling by way of flashlight and muscle memory. For her part, Betty is much worse at it than Cindy is.

“Why does that need a car jack?”

“Because he got in under there really good,” Cindy replies as they turn the corner into the requisite hallways. “Ah-hah! There it is. Peter Parker’s locker.” Indeed, there it is. Peter Parker’s locker. “Let’s get that thing unloaded so we can see what’s under.”

“This is a really bad idea, Cindy,” Betty repeats, for what feels like umpteenth time in the last hour. “Did someone put you up to this?”

“What makes you think that?” Cindy asks, yanking the car jack out of the bag.

“This normally isn’t your style,” Betty says. “Aren’t you busy playing lacrosse most days?”

“I got an anonymous tip,” she says as she positions the car jack under the row of lockers.

Betty narrows her eyes. “From who?”

Cindy looks at her friend. “From… an anonymous person.”

“From who?” repeats Betty.

“Fine. From MJ,” Cindy says, relenting. “I got it from MJ.”

“Who’s ‘MJ’?”

“Michelle Jones. You know her.” Cindy cocks her head. “She always hangs out with Peter and Ned but doesn’t ever really talk to them? She won the academic decathlon for us?”

“That weird girl?” Betty replies. “ _She’s_ your anonymous source? Kind of lacking in credibility, isn’t she?”

“What exactly is our statute for credibility here?” Cindy asks as she attempts to pump the car jack to no avail. She tries again, this time successfully lifting it a little, but she still can’t see anything. “Seriously, we’re not journalists.”

“Yet,” Betty adds on.

“Hey, if you’re really serious about this journalism thing, you should really take more of an interest in trying to uncover Spider-Man’s identity.” Cindy pumps again, but it’s heavier than it looks.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter who he is,” Betty says in a low voice.

“You’d make a _terrible_ journalist,” Cindy says with a sigh. “You’re probably going to end up being a secretary instead of a reporter.” She heaves one final time. “Got it!” The lockers move up and underneath them are…

“Holy crap,” Betty says, eyes widening.

“Same here, sister,” Cindy says, the same expression of wonder on her face.

Because underneath the lockers is a beat-up old Spider-Man costume and a box full of canisters that say “WEB FLUID.” The pair of girls look at each other, then back at the box, then back at each other, then back at the box.

“This is crazy,” Betty concludes. “There’s no _way_ Peter is Spider-Man.”

“Hey, if we didn’t live in the same city that has Avengers Tower _and_ a bunch of color-coded superheroes running around town, then I’d agree with you.” Cindy can’t take her eyes off of the incriminating evidence. “So… what now?”

Betty’s mind is racing. This really _is_ crazy. This was supposed to be a fool’s errand, a “what-if” type scenario where they wouldn’t uncover anything but would feel nice and rebellious but without actually harming anyone or anything. But now it feels like they both just stepped into a universe that isn’t altogether sane or rational. At the same time, this might be just the kind of thing that would help her career.

She adjusts her headband. “Maybe… we call the Daily Bugle?”

“No!” a voice shouts out. “Don’t do that!”

Betty and Cindy yelp as they fall backwards in surprise, looking up at the dark ceiling and painting it with their flashlights. Sticking to the ceiling is someone in red-and-blue-colored tights, his eyes seeming to shrink and widen as they focus their lights on him.

“Uh,” Spider-Man says. “Please?”


	2. Secret Admirer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High school hallways and bloody cell blocks.

This is bad. This is _real_ bad. It’s a terrible enough thing that May found out that he was Spider-Man in perhaps the worst (not to mention hilariously embarrassing) way possible, but now he’s got himself stuck to the ceiling watching two of his, er, friends cowering in fear of his red-and-blue tights. This is going to take some top-tier bullshitting to get out of.

“I mean,” he says, clearing his throat - which must look silly considering he’s totally perpendicular to them, “Stop right there, girls! You’re trespassing on school grounds! What are your parents going to think? Also, ignore what’s under the locker!”

Betty and Cindy slowly turn to look at each other, both of their faces gaping. They nod. Which is a bad sign, as Peter’s learned over the years. Cindy tentatively approaches him, causing him to tense up. She crosses her arms. “Peter Parker, is that you?”

“Peter Parker?” laughs Peter, though it’s pretty obviously a fake laugh (totally real, the realest!). “That lame nerd? You think I’m him?”

Cindy cocks her head, narrowing her eyes.

“I’m not… God, I’m not Peter Parker,” he’s quick to reiterate. “Or Penis Parker, am I right?” Peter couldn’t help but roll his eyes behind his suit, and he swears that he hears Karen giggle at what he said. Betty, as well, can’t seem to help but stifle a laugh at the nomenclature. _Nice one, Parker. Use Flash Thompson terminology for everything and suddenly you’re a comedian._

“How do you explain that?” Cindy asks, pointing at the web fluid canisters and the beat-up costume.

“Explain what?” Peter asks, nonchalantly.

“I think she’s talking about the Spider-Man costume and the… ‘web fluid,’” Betty says, jerking a thumb towards the materials, finally getting up from the floor.

“Peter keeps it there for me,” Peter mumbles. “We’re friends.”

“Didn’t you just call him Penis Parker a second ago?” Betty asks, though she can’t help herself from almost laughing when she says “penis.” Peter wonders whether or not prim-and-proper Betty Brant is secretly into foul-mouthed humor. _Make a mental note, Parker._

“...I’m a bad friend,” is all Peter can say.

“Also,” Cindy butts in. “Why would you keep your stuff in a high school? Under a bunch of lockers?”

“Cindy, I don’t have to explain myself to you. It’s very complicated Avengers-type stuff-”

“Hold on,” Betty injects. “You just called her Cindy. How do you know her name?” Cindy vicariously nods in agreement with Betty’s assessment.

Peter smacks his forehead. “Ugh… I really need to get better at this.”

“Yes, you do,” chirps Karen, inappropriately chipper as she always seems to be. Then, Karen pipes up again. “Might I suggest telling them the truth?”

“What? That sounds like a terrible idea!” Peter exclaims, maybe a little too loudly.

“What’s a terrible idea?” Cindy asks.

“Shush,” Peter says. “I’m talking to the voice in my head.” Cindy and Betty share that look again, a look that’s driving Peter more than a little crazy. He whispers, “Why do you think telling them is a good idea?”

“Honestly, it just seems like the best way out of this situation.”

“Then it’s still a terrible idea.”

“I calculate based on their metabolic responses that telling the truth might be the safest conclusion for your collective long-term mental health,” Karen concludes, showing Peter a stream of diagrams measuring the girls’ mental states, as well as a few WebMD articles on sexual arousal. Wait, what? “Also, it worked for Mr. Stark.”

Peter decides it's probably for the best to totally ignore Karen’s, er, medical advice. “Didn’t his house get blown up because of that? Something about that terrorist from a few years ago?”

He can’t help but start to fidget, hanging upside down now, balancing the soles of his boots between the thread of his webbing - attached securely to the plaster of the ceiling. It’s an almost involuntary response and he hardly even noticed having fired off a web to hang from.

“Do you trust them?” Karen asks.

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” Betty asks, suddenly now much closer than she had been previously. Peter’s taken completely by surprise. His extrasensory ability thing didn’t trigger when she got closer. It usually responds to danger but… it didn’t with Betty. That makes him almost as nervous as if his senses did trigger.

When Betty closes in, Peter locks up. Looking at her this close up, she _does_ look really cute. Peter’s known her mostly by her news broadcasts, aside from the occasional brush in the hallway - for which he always apologizes for being such a klutz. Still, it feels different now. Betty’s looking at him in a way that she never has. Curiosity, certainly, is evident on her face. But she’s gentle. Not cautious. Gentle.

Yeah, of course he locks up.

Trailing behind Betty, Cindy just looks on, uncharacteristically quiet. She’s observing this with the eye of someone who knows Betty very well and, as such, she can’t help but form a smile when Betty starts taking the initiative for once.

Betty’s getting really close. She places the palm of hand tentatively on the side of Peter’s face, upside down as it is. Peter almost jumps at the feeling, especially when her fingers begin curling around the contours of his jaw and cheek. His optics narrow, zooming into the blue of Betty’s eyes, the individual follicles of her lashes seeming to blink in slow motion as he stares. It feels like the whole world is growing colder and the only heat source is Betty’s hand, lightly stroking his face.

“Huh?” Peter says. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“I said, do you trust me?” Betty’s voice is earnest and the fact that she hasn’t ripped his mask off already seems to indicate that she’s not just there for brownie points with the Daily Bugle. At least… he hopes so. Oh, this is going to be such a bad idea.

Gulping, Peter nods.

“Good, Peter!” Karen says, sounding more than a little giddy. It’s enough to get Peter to crack a smile, which is good because Betty’s beginning to pull off his mask. 

Peter’s smile is the first thing that Betty sees and she returns it with vigor, the gentle smile she had on turning into a wide grin. She pulls it off and… yeah, there he is. Peter Parker, in Spider-Man’s costume, hanging upside down. And his hair is messy in just the right way that it looks cute. “Peter Parker!” Betty can’t help but say out loud in a cheery voice. “You’re Spider-Man!” Somehow, saying it out loud makes it all make sense. Behind her, Cindy is grinning as widely as she is.

Peter drops down from the ceiling, landing on two feet on the marble tiling. “Hey, hey! Shh! Yes, I’m Spider-Man. But we should, you know, maybe have this conversation elsewhere?” He grabs Betty and Cindy by the shoulders, ushering them into the nearby girls’ lavatory.

“Taking _two_ girls into the bathroom with you, Parker?” Cindy says, snark immediately available upon discovering that her suspicions were correct. “I never knew Spider-Man was such a ladykiller!” Cindy laughs, but Betty blushes intensely like she’s thinking about the possibility of that actually happening. 

Peter, once again, slams his palm against his forehead. “Let’s just… go inside, please?”

Once securely inside the bathroom, Peter webs up the door handle, about the only effective way of locking a bathroom door. He leans up against the door as two very curious girls stare at him with mixed expressions of curiosity, unbelief, and excitement. Peter hopes, with his heart in his spidery hands, that he’s doing the right thing.

Cindy’s grin remains unabated. “Tell us everything.”

\--

Peter gives them the broad strokes. Radioactive spider, the early mistakes, the “Stark Internship,” and the Vulture stuff. He tries to skip the embarrassing parts, but it’s particularly difficult when he gets to the bits involving Liz’s party. Still, he believes he did the story of Spider-Man justice. Mostly. Probably not.

“You’re a superhero,” Betty says with excitement. “I can’t believe it! Peter Parker is a superhero! Oh my God. This is unbelievable!” Peter has to continue to admit, as he’s had to do many times this night, that Betty Brant is being very cute.

Cindy crosses her arms again, like she’s a proud detective that solved an age-old mystery - which she kind of is. “I always knew there was more to you that met the eye,” she says. “And it wasn’t just why you were eternally single.”

Peter grimaces. “Cindy-”

“Who else knows?” Cindy asks before Peter can say anything else.

“That’s kind of privileged information, isn’t it?” Peter says weakly, but Cindy’s ensuing death stare makes it clear that Peter has no choice but to give up the goods. “Ned. Aunt May. Tony Stark and a bunch of his people. The Avengers, probably.” He skips the part where Adrian Toomes and his associates know who he is.

“How well do you know Tony?” Betty asks, the light shining in her eyes.

Peter gulps. If there’s ever a time to exaggerate one’s relationship with a billionaire playboy, now would be it. “Really well actually,” he says with a smile, scratching the back of his head. “We’re kind of best buds at the moment. Although, I’d hate to think I’m some sort of replacement for Captain America. That would be weird, right?” _Oh, Parker. You need to shut up._

“Do you think we could get a tour of Avengers Tower?” Cindy asks.

“Actually, I think they just moved out.”

“What about an invitation to Tony and Pepper Potts’ wedding?”

“I’m not even sure if _I’m_ invited.”

“Can I meet Thor?”

“Pretty sure he’s on another planet right now, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Peter,” Cindy says. “This is insane.”

“But very, very cool,” Betty says with a grin.

Peter can’t help but smile. But there’s a nagging thought at the back of his mind: _This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea._ He kicks that thought out, though, because it’s not like there’s anything he can do about this situation now. In fact, the only thing he can do is hope for the best and that this doesn’t turn into yet another tragedy in the life of Peter Parker.

Fat chance.

But seeing these two this giddy about him, it makes him feel a little good. Maybe even a little proud to be Spider-Man. Like suffering through everything he’s had to do over the last two months was worth _something_. Still, reality has to set in at some point and he places his hands on both of their shoulders.

“Listen,” he says urgently. “I know it’s cool that I’m a superhero and everything but you cannot, I repeat, _cannot_ tell anyone about this. Not your parents, not the teachers, and certainly not any of our friends.”

“Not even Flash?” Betty asks.

“Why would you tell Flash?” Peter asks, his brow crinkling in confusion.

“Well…” Betty blushes. “He’s always making fun of you. Calling you… you know. Even though he’s not as smart as you are, and _definitely_ not as good-looking.” Betty’s eyes widen like she’s exposed some big secret, but she keeps going as if hoping that Peter didn’t notice (though he definitely did and the itch in the back of his neck only grew when he heard it). “A-and now you’re Spider-Man! Spider-Man! Don’t you want to see him, you know, respect you for once?”

Peter smiles. “No,” he says. “It’s not about that. It’s not about respect. I just… it’s not about respect.” Betty quiets down, pursing her lip and smiling at Peter. He smiles back.

Cindy clears her throat, as if noticing this moment between the two of them, and growing steadily more annoyed at being ignored. As hard as it is for Peter to tear his gaze from Betty, he looks at Cindy. “And Cindy, don’t mention this to anybody, please? Not even your little brother. Or MJ.”

She smirks. “Sure thing, boss. You can count on us. We can be, like, your confidants or something. We’ll keep our lips zipped up.”

Peter sighs in relief, looking down in near-exhaustion. “Thanks, guys.”

“Chin up, Parker!” Cindy says, using a fist to literally bump his chin up. “You’re a superhero! You should be more confident.”

Peter laughs a bit. “Trust me, Cindy. Confidence isn’t the problem.”

Betty smiles. “You can trust us, Peter.”

Peter looks at her again, maybe a little too long, locking his brown eyes onto her baby blues. He smiles. “I know.”

“So,” Cindy says, looking at the webbed up door. “How do we get out of here?”

\--

Herman Schultz hates everything in the world right now. 

Not just everyone, everything (although, obviously, that includes everyone). He hates the prison guards, all of whom seem to want to poke his ribs with their little cattle prods. He hates the security cameras that seem to follow his every move (he’s never felt comfortable with people watching him; cameras always give him the feeling that he’s doing something wrong). He hates the other criminals that he’s stuck here with, especially since he suspects that - not unlike high school - there are cliques here too, and he’s going to be the outcast just like… well, just like high school. He hates the feeling of the orange prison garments and the sight of cell bars. He hates it.

Hates it, hates it, hates it.

Herman grumbles something underneath his breath as he stares up at the white ceiling from the not-altogether comfortable bed. White walls, white ceiling, white everything. He grumbles again. Is the monotonousness of the room supposed to break him? How sterile it is? How… boring? It’s frustrating. He gets up, unable to stop fidgeting.

It’s a temporary cell, as if that’s going to be any comfort. He’s just going to stay there until someone posts bail or busts him out or, God forbid, he actually goes to court. For Christ’s sake, he’s an electrician who worked for a construction company, not a lawyer. There’s a reason he never went to law school. Herman stands, approaching the bars, gripping them so tightly that his knuckles turn red.

He watches as another batch of prisoners come in, just one more group of lowlife criminals sent to the slammer by New York’s resident “heroes.” Herman couldn’t help but grumble again. Those heroes wreck everything, leave death and destruction in their wake, then profit off of cleaning up their own messes. And when the governments of the world try to keep them in check, they bolt off and become criminals, too. _Captain America, my ass._

Things are going to change, Herman decides. They’re going to change.

As soon as he gets out of his cell. Which should be any day now. _Any day now. Any day-_

A guard approaches him, holding a pair of handcuffs. The man is big and burly, but Herman thinks he can take him. Probably. If he had his Shocker gauntlets. “The big man’s asking for you,” the guard says. 

“Who the hell is the big man?”

“Just come with me,” snaps the guard.

He unlocks the cell door. He takes Herman’s wrists and clamps the cuffs on it, stinging them a little. Herman winces, but doesn’t resist. He’s in enough trouble as it is.

The guard leads him down through Ryker’s corridors, prison cell after prison cell filled with scum staring at him, like they’re shooting daggers. Herman glances at the guard. Somehow, he gets the feeling that he isn’t going to see an attorney. Along the way, Herman notices one particular corridor looks like it’s been quarantined. There’s yellow police tape and what look to be blood stains everywhere. A single guard stands watch, but he seems more interested in checking his phone, while janitors remain hard at work cleaning up the mess.

“What happened there?” Herman can’t help but ask.

“A prisoner went crazy a few months back,” says the guard. “Killed everybody in that cell block. Blood everywhere. It was a sight to see. We had to throw tear gas at him to make him stop. We’re still picking up the pieces from that little incident.”

Herman audibly swallows, beginning to wonder just how many violent kooks they have locked up in here.

They go through corridor after corridor until they finally reach solitary confinement. Herman half-heartedly wishes that he could stay there. He likes being alone. Other people just bog him down. Not to mention, it seems like there isn’t a shortage of mass murderers (who can still murder) even in prison. Plus, he’d rather avoid the awkward “What are you in for?” conversations that he’s seen too often in the movies. But Herman doesn’t have time to ponder that train of thought further because the guard pushes him into a cell and the door closes shut behind him.

Herman wonders if he’s being transferred into solitary. Yeah, sure. He doesn’t have that kind of luck. It’s dark in the cell. He can barely see anything, but he can make out the silhouette of a man, a large man, sitting on a chair. He looks like he’s wearing a jumpsuit, like Herman. A fellow prisoner.

“Are you ‘the big man?’” Herman asks.

“That would be correct, Mr. Schultz,” says the figure. The tone of his voice is measured, restrained, and oddly gentle.

Herman throws up his hands in a non-violent, non-aggressive way. Slowly he approaches the silhouetted figure. “Well, I’m here,” he says. “What do you want?”

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you, the work you did for Adrian Toomes, the weapon you wielded against this - what’s his name? - Spider-Man. And, most importantly, the connection you have with a certain Phineas Mason,” the figure intones. Herman approaches a little closer, his eyes beginning to adjust to the darkness. “If you’re interested, I have a job proposal for you.”

“A job proposal?” Herman asks incredulously. “Unless you want a bunk buddy, I don’t know if I can help you. If you haven’t noticed, we’re kinda incarcerated.”

The figure laughs. Herman can see him a bit more clearly. He’s bald like him. And he’s big, girthy. Much larger and bulkier than Herman originally thought. “I can help with that,” the man says. “I have considerable resources. Posting bail would be… a simple afterthought.”

The man stands up, holding out his hand. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he says with a smile. “My name is Wilson Fisk.”

\--

Peter gets home late. It takes a little while to tear Cindy and Betty from him, especially since Cindy couldn’t stop requesting for a web-slinging ride around Queens. Peter had to spend more time than was probably necessary disentangling her requests and telling her that it’s a bad idea to use his powers for a joyride around the old block. But that’s just the way the cookie crumbles, or so Jim Carrey says. After saying their goodbyes, Peter feels good - but that goodwill is almost immediately zapped when he gets home.

He freezes at the front door. He hasn’t been this nervous in a long time. But, suddenly, he remembers Cindy’s words. “You’re a superhero! You should be more confident!” And Betty’s expression of utter trustworthiness directly afterward propel Peter to unlock the door and go inside the apartment.

Peter braces himself, as if for a barrage of gunfire. But it never comes.

Instead, he feels the arms of his aunt embracing him, the sound of the apartment door closing behind him. She buries her nose in his hair and hugs him tight. She hasn’t hugged him like this since… well, since Uncle Ben died. Immediately, Peter’s stiffness evaporates and he hugs his aunt. God, she must have been worried sick.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, May she pulls back, though unable to let go of Peter. He can see the red in her eyes. She’s been crying, maybe taking the last few hours to really let the reality of who her nephew is sink in.

“May-” Peter begins, feeling like he needs to apologize. But his aunt shushes him, placing a finger on his lips.

“I called Tony Stark,” May says as she sits him down in the living room. “I thought he was to blame, you know? That you were one of his science experiments gone wrong. God, I wanted to strangle him.” She looks upset in that moment, like the fleeting hints of violent anger at Tony heated up again. But she calms down a second later. “But he told me you’d been at it for six months already before he gave you that new suit. Is that true?”

Peter nods. “Yeah.”

May nods back. “You were never not going to stop, were you?”

Peter shakes his head.

May has an expression on her face like she’s about to ask a question she already knows the answer to, but can’t help but ask it anyway. “Why?”

Peter leans forward, like he’s not totally sure what the answer she’s looking for is - but the memory clicks in place just at the right moment. The perfect memory. “Because…” He looks at her with sincerity. “With great power, there must also come great responsibility.”

May smiles, giving her nephew a half-hug. “Well then,” she says. “It’s a good thing my nephew is so responsible.” She hugs him again, Peter hugging back tightly. Memories of not too long ago, of when three people populated this apartment come rushing back and it’s hard for either of them not to start crying. “I don’t know about these powers, Peter. But I know that if Ben was still here… well, I don’t think he would’ve wanted you to not use them.”

“I don’t think so either,” Peter says, a smile growing on his face.

May ruffles Peter’s hair, causing him to laugh. “It’s late,” she says. “Go to bed. You have school tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Peter gets up and goes to his room. When he reaches the door, he stops and turns around at his aunt - eyes still red. “Love you, May.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, I went back and forth on how to structure this chapter. Had to cut some stuff, leave it for later. Suffice to say, I'm still happy with how it turned out. As usual, I've got that loving feeling for your feedback!


	3. Sixteen Candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are going well.

Peter wakes up feeling more refreshed than he has in _ages_. 

With a smile on his face, he jumps out of bed and lands on the ceiling, as quick as, well, a spider. He crawls over to the trapdoor leading to the “attic” (really just a storage room as large as his closet) and opens it, his multimillion dollar suit (that Mr. Stark says he totally owns now!) falling out and flopping onto the floor. Whistling to himself, he snaps the webshooters onto his wrist. He quickly fires off a webshot towards his stereo, turning it on and playing the Ramones’ “Blitzkrieg Bop.” As he passes by it, he cranks the volume knob up to the highest possible setting - not caring at all that this might wake up everyone in the apartment building.

Peter dances his way out of his room, still in his skivvies and socks. He darts to the bathroom, where he starts to clean his teeth, keeping each brush in tune with the music. After he gargles, he looks at himself in the mirror and fixes his hair before giving himself the biggest shit-eating grin he’s ever had. He slides out of the bathroom Tom Cruise-style and sees the breakfast that May’s set up for him on the dinner table. He grabs the french toast and shoots a webline up to the ceiling, hanging from a thread upside down as he start to chow down on his toast. He checks his phone as he chews. For a moment, Peter seriously starts to consider starting a Spider-Man Instagram. As he drifts over the app, though, he starts to thumb through his friends’ pages… and somehow he keeps landing on Betty Brant. Pictures of her having fun with Liz (those two seemed inseparable for a long time), taking a selfie in front of Avengers Tower, her in bikinis during the not-too-long-ago summertime (Peter stares at those particular pictures maybe a little longer than would be considered decent), and - most recently - a picture of herself, Liz, Cindy, Ned, MJ, and the rest of the gang during Homecoming. 

Captioned - “the time of our lives <3 #wishyouwereherepeter”

Peter stops chewing.

No. No, no, no. Bad idea, Peter. Don’t read into your friend’s Instagram caption more than you should. Please, God, no. That’s a terrible idea. She’s probably just making fun of you. Yeah, that’s it. She’s just mocking you for ditching Liz. Yeah. Absolutely.

Suddenly, he feels like he should be listening to Ed Sheeran instead of the Ramones.

Indeed, the music coming from his room suddenly stops and May enters the dining room. Stopping in her tracks, May stares with incredulity at Peter hanging upside down as he eats his breakfast. Peter stares back at her, suddenly feeling his muscles lock up like a wildebeest being hunted by a lion. May puts her hands on her hips. 

“Peter Parker,” she says with deadly seriousness. “Eat your food properly.”

“Right…”

Sheepishly, Peter drops down from the ceiling, landing squarely on his feet. He sits down and finishes eating his slice of toast before sticking a whole egg into his mouth, digging into the bacon not too soon afterwards. May leans against the wall and watches her nephew eat through this massive breakfast. “So…” she says. “ _This_ is why you’ve been eating so much more lately.”

“Yhup,” Peter mumbles as he eats the bacon. “Thher washh ahn increash-”

“Finish chewing your food, Peter.”

Peter swallows, maybe a little too soon and coughs. “Ever since my-” _Cough_. “-little _accident_ , I’ve had an increased metabolism. I need to eat at least 3000 calories a day. My body puts me through the paces of an intense workout regimen every day which is why, you know, I suddenly developed abs.”

“Uh huh,” May says, then sighs. “At least I don’t have to force you to exercise anymore.”

“The whole spider thing has its benefits.” Peter wipes his hands on some napkins and goes over to May, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Anyway, I’m going to get dressed! Have fun at work, Aunt May!” He ducks quickly into his bedroom.

“Peter, wait-” May manages to get out before he closes the door. She sighs again. “This is going to take some getting used to,” she mutters as she looks at the crumbs of bread on the floor, left by Peter’s little hanging exercise.

\--

It’s early morning when Herman Schultz is allowed to leave Ryker’s, giving every prison guard he sees the middle finger on his way out. He’s shoved into a locker room containing most of his stuff, though missing, obviously, is the Shocker gauntlet. He picks up Brice’s old jacket and looks at it, smiling a bit fondly. Brice was a huge jerk, but the pair had been partners in crime for more than a decade. Although, the “in crime” part was really only for the last few years. Still, after Toomes killed him, it wasn’t like anyone was going to use his stuff so Herman was happy enough to take possession of it all - especially Brice’s strange padded yellow jackets. Slipping the garment on and gathering everything else into a duffel bag, he leaves the room.

The guards quickly process him, kicking him out into the wild, glad to have one less criminal to worry about. Suddenly, Herman realizes just _how_ suffocating Ryker’s really was and he breathes in the fresh air like he’s been trapped in a coal mine all his life. He cracks his knuckles as he stares out at the bridge connecting the island to the rest of New York City. He begins to walk in that direction… until he realizes that it’s going to be a long walk.

Before he can formulate a plan to more quickly traverse the terrain, the sound of a not-too-distant radio fills his ears. Turning, he sees a sight for sore eyes: Phineas Mason, still wearing those ridiculous goggles, and eating a sandwich on top of a busted old ‘63 Camaro, which Herman remembers helping gather parts from a junkyard for. Phineas gives a distant wave, which Herman returns.

“Never thought I’d be glad to see you,” Herman says with a grin, giving Phineas a firm handshake. “But here we are, anyway.”

“Still wearing Brice’s jacket?” observes Phineas.

“I think it suits me better, honestly.”

Phineas nods, getting off the hood of the car and entering the driver’s seat. Herman opens the passenger door and flops inside, his head leaning back against the leather headrest. “Man,” he notes. “Prison _fucking_ sucks.”

“At least you got out,” Phineas says as he starts the ignition. “The boss is still stuck in there.”

Herman turns to Phineas. “Yeah. Toomes is kinda screwed.” He looks around, as if he’s making sure that no one can hear them (and makes sure the windows are rolled up). “So… you know about the Fisk deal, right?”

Phineas doesn’t say anything for a moment, but he nods slowly as the car begins its long drive across the Ryker’s bridge. “His men contacted me,” he says in a low tone. “They tell me that his old tinkerer is out of commission, retired from making supervillain gear.”

“Supervillain?”

“Well, I mean - that’s what we are, aren’t we?”

Herman shrugs. “I guess,” he says, rubbing his wrists. He really misses his gauntlet.

“Anyway,” Phineas continues. “He needs a new guy and ever since Toomes and you were arrested…” He trails off.

“Right,” Herman says. “You’re ‘available,’ now.”

“Freelance, I think, is what it’s called.”

“Well,” Herman says, looking back at the quickly shrinking prison behind him with a growing grin. “I’m just glad to be back on the streets. And not unemployed.” He turns to Phineas. “What have you been working on?”

Phineas smiles. “You’re gonna love it.”

\--

Ned whistles as he air guitars his way through the crowded Midtown High hallways, not a care in the world that he’s bumping into people left and right. Covering his ears are a pair of thrift store Bose headphones, sliding back and forth on his messy fop of hair as he headbangs his way to class. Just as the song reaches a crescendo, though, he’s tackled and his eyes immediately shoot open and look around. But it turns out that it’s Peter grabbing onto the back of his shirt and it only _feels_ like a tackle because, well, spider strength.

Peter’s face is one of utter urgency. “Ned, we need to talk!”

“Peter, we have class-”

“Mr. Bagley’s out sick!”

“Wait, really? Oh man, that’s good ‘cuz I didn’t do my homework-” Ned is shoved along with Peter, almost dragged across the shiny school flooring as he ushers Ned into the AV room. Not in use this early in the morning, Peter breathes a sigh of relief, and brushes his forehead with the back of his hand. Ned looks at his friend with concern. “Peter, what’s going on? What’s wrong?” Ned’s mind races at the possibilities. “Is it the Vulture? Is he back? Is it Iron Man? Is something going on with the Avengers? Are _aliens_ invading?”

“Ned!” Peter exclaims.

“Sorry.” Ned scratches the back of his head. “Seriously, though. You’ve got to fill me in, dude. Otherwise, I’m just going to be staring at you while you hyperventilate. Which, if that’s what you want me to do, that’s okay. But I get the feeling that-”

“You know how I told you that no one should know that I’m Spider-Man?” Peter blurts out all of a sudden.

Ned’s eyes narrow. “Yeah…?”

“And that, under no circumstances, should people find out from anybody that knows the secret?”

Ned tries to think if he’s done that… and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t. “Yeah?”

“Well… I may have accidentally broken that rule.”

Ned’s brows furrow. “Yeah?”

“Which would be bad.”

“...yeah.”

“It’s Betty and Cindy, Ned.” Peter’s eyes are darting around like he’s worried other people might start finding out. “Betty and Cindy know.”

“Cindy…? Cindy Moon?” Ned says in surprise, to which Peter nods. “And Betty Brant from the AV club? Liz’s best friend?”

Peter nods, before putting his face in his hands. “Oh, I feel like I’ve made a _huge_ mistake.”

Ned isn’t quite sure what to do, but he places a tentative hand on Peter’s shoulder… which is harder than it should be because when Peter’s nervous, he has a tendency of backing up against a wall and subconsciously sticking to it, lifting him up several feet from the ground. Ned’s in this awkward position just long enough that it feels uncomfortable, but he coughs to get Peter’s attention.

“Well,” Ned says. “I… wouldn’t worry about it… much.”

“I’m probably worrying over nothing, right?” Peter mumbles, almost to himself.

“Cindy is pretty trustworthy, as long as she doesn’t tell her little brother,” Ned says, looking off to the side. “I don’t know about Betty…”

“Oh God, Betty…” Peter says almost as a reaction. 

Ned tilts his head, and rubs his chin like he’s a detective that’s getting close to discovering a vital clue. Darn, he should have brought his fedora. That would’ve completed the look. “Peter,” he says slowly. “What are you _really_ worried about?”

Peter has a deer-in-the-headlights look. _Got him_. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you actually more worried about Betty Brant than you are about your secret identity?” Ned presses the matter further, almost sure now that _this_ is what’s causing turmoil in Peter’s addled mind.

“W-what? N-no! Ned, that’s ridiculous! My Spider-Man secret is above everything, you know? There’s nothing more important than-”

The door to the AV room swings open and Peter has almost no time to duck off from the wall, almost hiding behind Ned - as if that’s going to make it seem to whoever’s walked in that Peter wasn’t totally sticking to the wall. Still, Ned’s girthy enough that using him for cover might work, if Ned didn’t totally sidestep the moment Peter got behind him. Before Peter can complain (as Ned can predict), he realizes exactly who’s walked in.

“Hey,” Betty says in a cheerful tone, though her face is clearly one of veiled amusement.

“H-hi,” Peter says, cowering behind nothing. He straightens himself, but now his posture makes it seem like he has a big ol’ stick up his butt. Betty stifles a laugh, which makes Peter’s face redden.

“Hi, Ned,” she says, giving him a small wave and kicking the door closed behind her with her foot, which is clearly a relief for Peter.

“Hey, Betty.” Ned tries to keep a grin from forming on his face, but it’s clear that he’s struggling.

“You’re in on the whole superhero gig, right?” Betty asks so nonchalantly, like she’s talking about whether or not Peter’s joined a new club - which, Ned supposes, he has.

“Yep,” he says proudly. “I was actually the first person Peter told.”

“He found out by accident,” Peter mutters.

“And I remember saving your butt a few times, too,” Ned says, grin now clearly displayed on his face. He starts to inch toward the exit. “Anyway, I need to go. Betty, I’m sure you have AV stuff to do. So, I think I’ll just leave the two of you here since-” Ned looks to Peter, who looks like he’s terrified and about to go ‘instant kill’ on his ass. _Haha, perfect_. “-I have, uh, class to get to. Bye!” He leaves, and before Peter can utter any sort of protest, closes the door behind him.

Laughing to himself, Ned continues to strum his imaginary guitar on his way to… wherever it is he’s going next. He bumps into someone and before he can apologize, he feels like his ear is going to be torn off.

“Ow, ow, ow! Hey! What gives?” Ned complains to whoever happens to be pinching his ear who, as it turns out, is MJ. “MJ?”

“What are you doing wandering the halls, Ned?” she asks, like she cares but obviously doesn’t. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Mr. Bagley’s out.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” she says cryptically.

“Uh, can I-”

“Where’s Peter?” she asks.

\--

Son of a bitch.

Has Ned never heard of _loyalty_? Peter’s sensibilities are offended. How could his friend strand him here, nay, _endanger_ him just for his own petty amusement? Didn’t Ned know how legendarily terrible he is with girls? Especially girls that he has a crush on? Oh God, he has a crush on Betty Brant. He hadn’t realized it until just this second, but he totally has a crush on Betty Brant. Who is standing right in front of him. Right now. And they’re alone in the AV club room. 

_Kill me now._

Betty offers Peter a shy smile, the tension in the room now obvious to both of them. She shuffles on her feet before it seems like she sucks in a bit of a breath, like she’s steadily growing more and more nervous. _You and me both, Betty._ She approaches Peter tentatively, holding her books in front of her like she’s using them as a shield. Peter’s senses, sensitive as they are, begin to assault him in this confined space, and he can almost hear Betty’s heart rhythm keeping pace with his own.

 _She likes me, too_.

The obvious is just a little too obvious. But Peter’s not exactly ready to put everything down on the line just because of a gut feeling, spider sense be damned. So, he stands there - Betty Brant encroaching on him like the cutest predator ever on an infatuated wildebeest - looking like an idiot. Man, he really needs to stop getting analogy advice from Mr. Stark. And what is up with him and wildebeests recently?

“So…” she says, dragging out the syllable, looking up at Peter. “Did you get home alright?”

“Uh, yeah.” Okay, not the question he was expecting. But Betty Brant expressing concern for someone isn’t exactly the most unexpected thing ever. “How about you?”

She nods. “Yeah, though my parents were wondering why I came home so late.”

“What was your excuse?”

“Tracking down a lead with Cindy,” she says. “I’m bad at lying. So I just left the Spider-Man stuff out.”

“Kinda like me,” Peter says, all self-deprecating and the like. An awkward silence ensues, neither quite sure what to say next.

“Listen, Peter-”

“Betty-”

Another pause, another awkward silence. Peter hates this. Why, oh why didn’t he leave with Ned? Now, he’s stuck here - and it feels almost as bad as when he was hanging off the side of an airplane fighting his Homecoming date’s flying father. _Man, my life is so weird_.

“You go first,” Betty says.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t wanna-”

“Peter,” she says sternly.

“Okay,” he says, leaning his side against the wall, like that’s going to do anything. “Uh, well... “ He swallows. What _is_ he going to say? He knows what he _wants_ to say, but he isn’t sure that he knows Betty well enough to really… screw it, he asked out Liz with at least some measure of confidence. And what did Cindy say? _You’re a superhero, Peter Parker! Get with the times! You think Tony Stark has trouble with this stuff?_

“Betty!” he says, maybe a little too loudly. “Are you busy tonight?”

Betty’s eyes open wide and Peter swears that he can see a bead of sweat begin to roll down the side of her face. “N-no…” she answers tentatively.

“Do you want to, you know, uh, go out tonight? T-to have dinner and a movie or something?” Peter is stammering, but he’s just grateful that he’s managing to get the words out correctly. This could be so much worse.

Betty bites her lip and looks down. For a moment, Peter feels like he’s messed up in a big way. He may have totally misinterpreted the situation. But just a second later, Betty looks back up at Peter with a big smile on her face - and Peter realizes that she looked down to take a breath in _relief_. “I was wondering if you were ever going to ask,” she says.

Peter lets out a breath he didn’t know he was keeping in. “R-really?”

“Yeah,” she says, clicking her shoes together cutely. “Ever since yesterday night, you’re pretty much all I’ve been able to think about so…” She blushes. “...I’d been meaning to ask you out, too. Before Cindy got to you.”

Peter furrows his brow. “D’you really think Cindy would be interested in me?” He’d scoff, but Peter Parker doesn’t scoff.

Betty laughs. “Maybe I’m just a little paranoid,” she says. “But I’m glad you asked. Saves me the trouble of embarrassing myself.”

“So…”

“Yes,” Betty says, bright smiles all around. “I would _love_ to go out with you tonight.”

“Great!” Peter says. “Uh, I know a place in Long Island City. We can take the subway.”

“Can’t wait,” she says, trying to keep her cool, but it’s obvious that she is very genuinely excited. Pausing as if making a quick decision, she leans in close and gives Peter a kiss on the cheek. Eyes widening, Peter gets even redder than he was before. He freezes in place, smile only getting bigger. He stays that way for a while.

Betty coughs. “Peter.”

“Y-yeah?”

“I have, you know, work to do here.”

“O-oh, right.” He shuffles out of her way, heading toward the door. He opens it, looks back at her smiling face, and says, “See you tonight?”

“See you tonight,” she happily echoes.

Unable to keep his grin from his face, Peter leaves the room. As he closes the door, he swears that he hears a sound of elated joy come from inside the AV room. He nods to himself, like he’s proud that he’s done the right thing. _You are the man, Peter. You are the frickin’ man, man!_ He nearly jumps for joy and, in fact, he does - his head colliding with the hanging fluorescent light in the hallway.

Pain quickly coming from his head, he rubs the back of it and curses himself. He looks up at the light fixture and he realizes that it’s about to come crashing down. He deftly dodges it, but it still lands squarely onto the shiny hallway floor, sparks flying. His eyes widen and he rushes out of the hallway before any of the hall monitors can see what’s happened. What would normally be remorse, however, is replaced by a feeling of unrelenting glee. Things finally seem to be going right in his life, despite crashing light fixtures.

\--

It’s a long drive back to Queens, but it’s where Toomes’ crew keeps most of their facilities. The place that Toomes had detonated was only their main warehouse. He had other smaller ones scattered throughout the borough. Phineas parked the car in front of one, a decrepit old building near the East River waterfront. Herman got out, looking at the broken windows and half-empty garbage trucks parked around. This is a place that even the New York sanitation workers didn’t dare touch.

“Not exactly living it up here, are we?” Herman notes.

Phineas exits the car. “It’s better than nothing,” he says, opening the gate. “And anywhere I can work, I’m happy.”

The pair enter the building, the dusty and filled with cobwebs. Herman’s fist clenches a little at the sight of webbing, but he calms himself down. Now isn’t quite the time to be getting mad. That comes later. He and Phineas make their way toward the work area, where Phineas has clearly already been hard at work on new projects. Weapons and prototypes line the walls, blueprints are scattered across desks, and half-eaten pizza slices are everywhere.

Eagerly, Phineas shows Herman around. “Fisk may be in jail, but he still has connections to the outside,” he says, picking up a glowing Chitauri power core. “When he heard about what happened with Toomes, he had his people salvage what they could from our old base.” Phineas picks up a Chitauri railgun, grinning. “He even managed to bribe some Damage Control officials into giving us some of their salvaged tech.”

Herman nods, crossing his arms. “Sounds like we’re back in business.”

“Definitely,” Phineas says. “But, here, let me show you what I’ve been working on.” He goes over to the busiest-looking workbench. Herman spies what he hopes is what it is. Phineas picks up the pair of gauntlets, now looking very different from before, and lays them in front of Herman. “I’ve been working on these. They’re even better than before, now.”

Herman grins. “Looks like the Shocker’s back, baby.”


	4. American Graffiti

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pleasant night out.

Betty bites her lip, eyes following Mr. Harrington out of muscle memory but not hearing a single word that he’s saying. The only thing she can think about are flashes of brown hair, an adorable face, that charming smile, and sticky fingers. _Ew_ , she thinks. _Not that kind_. But Betty can’t help but keep thinking anyway and the red on her face is probably as clear as the sheen on an apple. _Peter Parker. What a guy._ Betty chuckles to herself when she thinks about what happened this morning. Peter Parker is an incredibly awkward guy. An incredibly handsome, very sweet, and incredibly awkward guy. And, yeah, there’s the part where he’s also a superhero - but that almost feels like icing on the cake, instead of, you know, the cake itself.

Metaphors aren’t her strongest suit, especially when she’s thinking about how a date with goll-darned Spider-Man is going to go. _But I have to temper my expectations! What if something goes wrong?_ Just _what_ , Betty has trouble imagining. The worry, though, starts to seep in. And the blush on her face starts to deepen as she begins, mayhaps, overthinking things a little. _What if_ I _screw up? That’s not exactly outside the realm of possibility. Oh God, I could laugh at something inappropriate. Does Peter like that kind of humor? I could make a joke about Thor… probably not a good idea. I don’t even know if I can have normal conversations with boys I like-_

“Ow!”

A sudden flash of pain hits her on the side of the head. As she rubs her head, she looks down and sees a small rubber band. Looking around, she spots Cindy gesturing to her a few seats away. Betty looks at her in confusion, but after a moment, Cindy’s intentions become clear. Betty grabs her bag and moves across the room and sits next to Cindy, Mr. Harrington apparently not having noticed at all - or, more likely, having not cared at all. He continues with his lecture, unabated by whatever classroom antics his students are getting up to.

Betty sits down on the desk and Cindy looks at her with concern.

“What’s going on?” Cindy whispers.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re looking pretty distracted,” she says with some concern. “And more than usual, I mean. Seriously, your face looks hot enough to cook eggs on.”

That only makes Betty blush harder. “You think I look hot?”

“Yes,” Cindy says, then blinks. “Wait. No, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, you _are_ hot but I know you think you don’t swing that way, but-” Cindy shakes her head. “Anyway, not the point. You were-slash-are blushing super hard. And I saw you just a second ago looking like you were sweating bullets.” Cindy puts a palm against Betty’s forehead, which is getting quite clammy. “Yeah, you’re sweatin’. Give up the goods, lady. What happened?”

Betty sucks in a breath, taking a second to process everything Cindy just said. “Peter asked me out.”

“What?” Cindy’s eyes go wide.

“Yeah.”

“And you said-”

“I said yes.” Betty gets a sheepish look on her face. “Actually, I kinda told him I’d been planning to ask him out, too.”

“You were gonna ask him out?”

“Yeah.”

“You were gonna ask him _out_?”

“Yeah…?”

“Huh.” Cindy scratches her head. “You know, I didn’t think you had a crush on Peter Parker. You always ignored him in the hallways. You just never seemed like....” Cindy trails off.

Betty looks down, attempting to avoid Cindy’s gaze. But before long, Cindy’s sighed and put a reassuring hand on Betty’s shoulder. The blonde looks up, meeting Cindy’s kind eyes.

“Is this because of, you know…” Cindy folds back her middle finger and ring finger to emulate Spidey’s you-know-what. “Are you just doing this because he’s a, you know, Aveng-”

“No,” Betty says quickly. “I’ve always… I’ve always liked Peter.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s-” Betty looks around. “It’s complicated. I feel kinda bad for doing this, now that I think about it.” It’s true. Betty’s stomach starts to churn, like a bad omen is starting to pulsate through the rest of her body. “Crap. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Hey, hey…” Cindy cups Betty’s cheeks affectionately. “Do you want to do this?”

“Yes,” Betty answers unequivocally.

“Then, don’t worry about it,” she says with a gentle smile. “Do what you _want_ to do. God, I feel like I’m talking to Albert right now.” Cindy shakes her head. “Trust in your heart… and all that jazz.”

Betty laughs. “You’re probably right,” she says quietly. “You know, I bet Peter doesn’t have to deal with stuff like this.”

\--

“Traitor!”

“Quiet in the library!” shouts the librarian.

“Sorry.” A clear of the throat follows, then in a lower tone, “Traitor…”

Peter’s face is a twisted vision of rage. He walks across the library and grabs Ned by the collar. At first, Ned’s face is one of surprise and confusion - but it’s quickly replaced by an expression that mirrors Peter’s, and he swats Peter’s grip away, standing tall and proud.

“You’ve betrayed me,” Peter seethes. “You left me with Betty all alone, with no support.”

“Aye,” says Ned. “That I did, Petrus Parquagh.”

“You know what must be done,” says Parker in a low tone. “You know how to make this right.”

Wordlessly, Ned reaches into his backpack at a snail’s pace. Peter’s muscles feel like they’re locking up, and he can feel the tension increase in his abdomen. Ned pulls out a small, rectangular device - flipping it open to reveal… a Nintendo 3DS. Peter, similarly, reaches into his backpack and takes out a Nintendo 2DS.

“Smash Bros, bro,” Peter says without irony. “You and me. No items, Final Destination.”

“No video games in the library!” shouts the librarian.

“Sorry!”

\--

“So, you asked her out?” Ned asks.

It’s a little while after Peter and Ned’s deathmatch, which was very close, though Ned managed to eek out a win against Peter in Sudden Death. Peter grumbled something about how his thumb involuntarily stuck to the button, but Ned couldn’t really hear him over the sound of his own victory cheers. School’s out now, the bell having rung just a few short minutes after Peter’s resounding defeat, as if to remind him that he loses even in the little things in life. Ned munches on a sandwich as they relax on the bleachers, watching the football team go about their afternoon exercises.

“Yeah,” Peter says with a smile. “I honestly didn’t think I’d be able to. Not if you were there, at least. Might have soiled myself in embarrassment.”

“So basically, I was responsible for this date.”

“I-” Peter pauses. “-yeah, I guess you are.”

“Awesome.” Ned grins. “I’m a _great_ wingman.”

Peter warmly nods and gives him a fistbump. “That you are.”

For a moment, the two friends watch football practice, neither totally getting how the game is played, but enjoying the glowing irony of there being a halfway competent football team at an institution supposedly created for the development of scientific minds. Peter props his feet up, leaning sideways as he stares out at the football field. 

He wishes that things would always be this idyllic. For once, the worst thing he’s had to worry about today has been whether or not Betty Brant would say yes to asking her out, and dealing with Ned’s “betrayal” not too long after. Could everyday be like this? Could he be a superhero _and_ have a normal life at the same time? Peter’s gaze shifts to Ned, who has his hands behind his back and is idly smiling as he watches the offensive line slowly gain ground. Everything is good right now. Everything is good. He’s hanging out with his best friend, his homework is finished, he’s going on a date later, and he’s a locally-famous crimestopper.

So why does his stomach feel like it wants to turn itself inside out?

Everything’s going just a little _too_ well. And even as young as he is, Peter Parker knows that all good things come at a price. And being Spider-Man has taught him that happy endings almost never take the form that he wants them to. _I’m hanging out with Ned. I’m on the up-and-up with my grades. I’m going on a date with Betty Brant_. _I’m Spider-Man_. And all of that makes him feel like he wants to throw up. He starts to feel more than a little anxious, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Apparently, Ned picks up on it. “You okay, Peter? You’re looking a little pale.”

“Yeah,” Peter says quickly, maybe a little too quickly - like he’s trying to reassure himself. “I’m just… you know.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Peter says. “It’s nothing.”

“If there’s something wrong-” Ned speaks up.

“I’m serious,” Peter says, dismissing his friend’s worries. “If there _was_ something wrong, you’d be the first person I’d tell. Honestly Ned, I-” Peter stops talking and his eyes widen, hairs beginning to stand up on his arm. 

His senses suddenly go haywire, like an alarm bell has set off somewhere nearby. Peter follows its direction. This feels different from normal. It’s not warning him about danger to himself; someone else is in trouble. Peter’s eyes lock onto an alleyway and the screeching of the alarm bells seem to bounce off the walls towards him. 

“Peter, what is it?” Ned asks, following Peter’s line of sight.

“Stay here,” he says, standing up. “There’s something going on in that alleyway.”

“Oh man,” Ned opines. “Alleyways are never good. I lost an Enterprise keychain once in an alleyway. A cat took it. My cousin gave me that.” He pauses. “Anyway, alleyways are never good.”

“Yeah,” Peter confirms, ducking down behind the bleachers. He pulls his costume out of his bag. _Time to go to work, Parker_.

\--

Michelle Jones is a very smart person. Incredibly smart. Indubitably smart. See? She even knows and _uses_ the word “indubitably.” Who else but a smart (and not altogether unpretentious) person would use a word like indubitably? Especially in a non-verbal internal monologue? Well, probably also an incredibly smart person… who’s being mugged in the alleyway right outside of the campus.

Michelle backs up against the red brick wall, trying her best not to show the fear that’s slowly beginning to creep up her spine and threatening to override her usually cool demeanor. Michelle wonders if now is really the right time to be preserving her dignity and honor, and whether or not giving her laptop and phone to these creeps wouldn’t just solve the problem and leave her with her life.

These same creeps who she ran into while she foolishly tried to visualize a shortcut towards her next destination, which even she couldn’t believe she was going to. Four overly burly guys with bandanas who obviously enjoy palling around in the dark corners of Queens. They’d been drinking and smoking, evidently, and Michelle had to try very hard not to retch from the mixed odors of tobacco and alcohol that flew from their mouths every time they opened them, which are now transfixed in sinister grins.

“So, what’s the little girl doing in the alleyway?” one of them asks.

“She’s looking for trouble,” one of them says, pulling out a knife.

“Maybe looking for something else,” another says, sneering and grabbing Michelle’s face, holding . He laughs in her face and she coughs from the terrible smell. _Oh, yeah. Fuck this._

Michelle grabs the man’s hands and bites down. His face contorts into a form of incredulousness and regret as he pulls back, screaming more loudly than he has in his entire life - and missing two fingers. Michelle didn’t intend to maim the man, but it’s not like he was presenting her with much of a choice. She receives a twisted sense of satisfaction watching the man recoil in pain, as his middle and index fingers slowly fall off their ends… but the taste of blood in her mouth starts to mix with the taste of adrenaline, and she suddenly begins to cough in disgust.

“Bitch!” the man says, pulling out a gun with a non-injured hand. Michelle tenses, unable to remove herself from the stability of the brick wall - and every possible thought she can have when confronted with a gun flashes through her mind. Before she can formulate a plan, though, the man’s gun disappears in a haze of white, flying off. Michelle and the creeps whip their heads toward where the gun went. Holding it by the barrell is a short-looking guy in red-and-blue tights.

“Now, what do we have here?” Spider-Man says. “This looks like quite the party!”

“Shit,” one of them opines.

“Well said, good sir!” Spider-Man jumps into the air, faster than any of them react. He lands in the thick of it, right in the middle of the group. “Hey, do any of you know how fast it takes for broken bones to heal?” he remarks, as he slams an elbow against the amputated man’s face, knocking him to the ground. “Actually, I don’t think there are bones in noses.”

One of them try to swipe a knife at him, but he grabs the man’s forearm before he can reach him. “Really? A knife? You know I’ve fought Captain America, right?” Spider-Man seems to squeeze slightly, which causes the man to yell out in pain and drop the knife. He grabs the man’s arm and slams him into someone else, which cause them to fly into a brick wall, slumping over each other. He webs them up, sticking them in their awkward position. “Seriously. Captain America. Look it up.”

The last guy tries to run away. Spider-Man doesn’t even spare him a glance as he fires off a web, though it looks slightly different. After a moment, the web seems to flow with electricity and the man collapses to the ground, smoke coming from his groaning form.

“I coulda told you that wouldn’t work,” he calls out.

Michelle stands there, enraptured and totally forgetting about just how _close_ she was to getting killed a moment ago. Time seems to slow down as she watches Spider-Man web up the man whose fingers she’d bitten off. During the fight, he didn’t look human to her. Like there was something… off about him. Just the way he moved - like a gymnast who could bend and stretch in ways that were a little too extreme. But now… watching him, he looks just as human as anybody.

He turns to her. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” she sputters out before clearing her throat. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Spider-Man’s lenses seem to narrow as he gazes at her face, which makes Michelle feel more nervous than when she’d been in danger. “Your mouth,” he says. “Are you bleeding?”

She shakes her head. “No, I…” She points at the fallen man’s hand.

“Yeesh,” exclaims Spider-Man, putting his hands on his hips. “I would hate to get in a fight with you. That’s wild, like a… tiger.”

Michelle smiles. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Spider-Man nods knowingly. “What were you doing in the alleyway? It’s dangerous out here, even in the afternoons.”

Michelle scratches the back of her neck. “I just had a place I needed to get to really quickly, but that can wait now.” The adrenaline’s starting to die down; she can feel it. And the fear of the situation begins to subside, allowing her body to feel a little more comfortable with Spider-Man. “I would’ve been dead without you.”

“Or worse,” he remarks.

“Yeah.”

Things are silent for a second, before Michelle speaks up again. “That’s two.”

“Hmm?”

“This is the second time we’ve met,” she says. “We met before at the Washington Monument, in D.C. when you saved the kids from Midtown High.”

Spider-Man laughs - and, Michelle could swear, nervously - before he places his hand on the back of his neck. “I guess so,” he says. “You were on the ground, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Seems kinda funny that you hang around kids from Midtown High all the time.”

Spider-Man is silent. “Just lucky, I guess.”

“I guess,” Michelle says slowly. “A friend of mine - well, not a friend, really - says that _you’re_ friends with Peter Parker.”

Another pause. “Not really a friend,” he says, maybe a little too quickly. “Just a guy I know from hanging out with Iron Man.” Michelle swears that she can see him smile under the mask. “He’s pretty good at making spreadsheets.”

Michelle laughs. “He’s a smart guy. Maybe could do with being a little less tardy all the time. Cute, though.”

“Yeah, cute…”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, do you?”

“Uh… no.” His feet shuffle, like he’s not totally sure what to do next. “Hey listen,” he says, changing the subject. “I think we need to get you to the hospital.”

A puzzled look finds itself on Michelle’s face. “The hospital? What for?”

“Well, I’m guessing that these guys aren’t exactly the cleanest criminals on the planet.” He gestures to one, who has several cartons of cigarettes having spilt out of his jacket pocket. “And you just bit that dude’s fingers off, so…”

“Are you worried I might have gotten some kind of venereal disease?”

“Hey, a bloodstream is a dangerous place.”

“Do you also work for DARE?”

“I wouldn’t _dare_ work for DARE,” he says. “But don’t do drugs, kids.”

Despite herself, Michelle can’t help but laugh. “Alright,” she says. “I’m gonna go to the hospital.” She begins to walk away from the scene of the crime, but Spider-Man stops her.

“Let me give you a ride,” he says, turning his back to her. “Hop on.”

“Uh, okay.” Michelle awkwardly wraps her arms around Spider-Man, holding him taut by his abdomen and chest. She isn’t expecting how soft the material feels, and she certainly doesn’t expect how much she ends up enjoying how well-built he is. _Huh. Suppose this is what having a celebrity crush feels like. Eeh… not quite the same thing_. _I better not have a thing for Spider-Man now_.

“Hold on tight,” Spider-Man says.

“Alright, I-” Michelle isn’t prepared for how _fast_ he is, jumping up and sticking to the brick wall. After just a second, Michelle is already higher above the ground than she’d ordinarily be comfortable with. Her fingers dig into the fabric of his suit, which seems to be made out of some incredibly advanced polymer by her brief analysis. They reach the roof and Michelle can see most of the neighborhood, bodegas and delis as far as the eye can see. Beside herself in wonder, Michelle grins.

“Enjoying yourself?” Spider-Man asks.

“Maybe a little.”

He laughs as he starts to run across the rooftop, jumping to and fro - Michelle having to hold onto his suit for dear life as they traverse the heights of Queens. Slowly, she gets used to the feeling. She’d say it’s kind of like reading a bicycle, except the wind in your face is far more intense than biking down the steepest slope in the city, including that crazy long one by 91st Street. Eventually, Spider-Man reaches a place where he can’t possibly jump to the next rooftop, but he doesn’t stop running.

“Uh, Spider-Man…?” Michelle broaches.

He doesn’t seem to listen, but he does let out a laugh - a hearty enough one that Michelle’s nerves are almost quelled. Almost. She can’t help but tense her muscles when he jumps and, for a moment, she’s afraid that they’re both going to end up as paste on the pavement. But their direction suddenly shifts and now they’re swinging - swinging through the air in the middle of a Friday afternoon across a busy Queens intersection. She glances down and sees the usual afternoon rush hour traffic flitting by, some of the cars just a few feet below them as they swing through.

It’s exhilarating. It’s thrilling. It’s like nothing she’s ever felt before.

Then suddenly, it stops. They’re in front of the hospital.

She wants to pout, wants to complain, wants to tell Spider-Man to take her on more of these webslinging adventures. But she stops when she sees him, because he’s looking at her - eyes narrow. And she doesn’t know why, but her heart stops for a second. The way he looks, framed like that - the sun behind him, creating a halo around his head. If she was a painter, she’s sure she’d compare him to a Caravaggio piece.

He tilts his head. “Uh, you okay?”

Her face heats up. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She crosses her arms, trying her best not to look _too_ impressed, but she can’t stop herself from smiling. She looks at him, a little coy. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job.” _Charming_.

It’s Michelle’s turn to shuffle on her feet a little. “I’d give you a kiss, but you know.” She points at her bloodied mouth.

Spider-Man chuckles. “Yeah, no problem.”

She holds out a fist to bump. “See you around?”

“See you ‘round, MJ,” he says, bumping her fist.

He stays there for a moment, looking at her. Then, just as quickly, he turns around and jumps into the sky, shooting yet another webline and swinging across the Queens skyline. Michelle watches him for a while, unable to fully comprehend everything that had just happened. She smiles to herself.

Then her smile freezes, before disappearing.

_MJ._

She never told him her name, let alone the name that she only gives out to her friends. Michelle keeps watching Spider-Man for a few more moments, until he flies out of her sight. It takes her a second before she turns around and goes into the hospital, thoughts going every which way in her head.

\--

Betty doesn’t know about which dress to pick. 

There are a lot of different ways that she views herself, and she’d like to think that her clothing reflects the way she views herself fairly well. She’s known for being quite old-school with her fashion choices. Skirts and cardigans, loafers and thigh-high socks - as if she can’t help but wear a school uniform despite Midtown’s lack of a strict dress code. Still, she’s got some signature traits. Black headbands are a particularly well-known “Betty Brant staple,” though she sometimes feels like they’d suit her better if she had a different name. Like if she was named Glenn Spacey or something. She’s trying on every dress she can find in her closet, even the ones she knows look bad.

“Will you just pick something, already?” Cindy is lying sideways on Betty’s bed, a bored expression on her face as she watches Betty cycle through her clothes.

“Cindy, come on!” Betty says hurriedly. “What happened to ‘trust in your heart?’”

“Well, your heart is being really picky right now!” Cindy’s face is contorted into one of pure anguish. “Can you tell it to hurry up?”

“I’ve got to take this seriously,” Betty says. “Impressing Peter is really important to me.”

Cindy sits up. “Seriously?” she says. “You want to _impress_ Peter?”

Betty stops, looking at her friend. “Yeah…?”

Cindy shakes her head, laughing to herself. She gets up, goes over to Betty and puts her hands on her shoulders. “Betty,” she says, seriously. “The _last_ thing you need to worry about is whether or not Peter Parker is going to be _impressed_ by you. You think that boy knows his halter sundresses from his backless bodycons?”

“I guess not…?”

“Then don’t worry so much! Just do, you know, _you_. You don’t need to go all _Grease_ on him just to get him to like you. He _already_ does.” Cindy looks over her friend who’s currently trying on a leather jacket over a low-cut top, not unlike one Sandy Olsson. “Take those clothes off.”

“What?”

“Seriously, take those clothes off,” Cindy says, turning toward her friend’s closet. “I know there’s a dress in here that I saw before that suits you _perfectly_.” Betty does so, stripping down to her underwear as she watches Cindy dig through her closet, mumbling to herself. It’s awkward for a minute, being half-naked with her friend in the same room, but Betty reminds herself that it’s really no different from when they’re in the girl’s locker room. Yeah, no different at all.

“Eureka!” Cindy exclaims. “Got it!” She pulls out a dress from the closet and turns to face Betty, whose underwear-clad visage causes her to pause, like she’s taking in the sight.

“Uh, Cindy?”

“Right! Sorry. You’re a lot more fit than I thought you were.” Cindy gives Betty the dress who zips it open and puts it on quickly. Cindy turns, with some difficulty, and brings her attention to Betty’s shoe rack. Amidst the thigh-high boots and loafers, she spots a strange, almost neon tinge of turquoise. “Hmm…” She grabs the pair, essentially just some modified Chuck Taylor’s but with the soles completed painted over in what looked to be luminescent blue.

“Try these on!” Cindy says, tossing them to her friend. 

Betty yelps. “These, really? With this dress? I’m going to look like some kind of weird techno-hipster.”

“And you don’t think Peter’s going to dig that?”

“...I can’t argue with your logic.”

Betty finishes putting on the dress and slips on the shoes. Standing before Cindy, Betty feels a little strange. It’s a short-sleeved dress, colored black at the bottom - which is just short enough that Betty feels only _a little_ out of her comfort zone - that ends in triangle shapes at her chest, where it transitions into white. Her sleeves are tinged with a hint of neon pink. Similarly, the dress’ most peculiar feature - a hood - is pink on the inside. Combined with the turquoise-tinged sneakers, Betty looks quite odd… but _very_ striking. And, as she warms to it, it’s actually quite a stylish ensemble she’s got on.

“Huh,” Betty comments.

“Well,” Cindy begins with a smile. “What do you think?”

“Let me never doubt your fashion advice, Cindy.” Betty grins at her friend before giving her a big hug.

Cindy hugs back, tight. “I don’t tour Fifth Avenue for nothing, sister.”

\--

Peter Parker arrives home a little later than he hopes, changing out of his Spider-Man outfit in the bushes outside his apartment building. There are only so many times he can afford to sneak into his apartment through the window before building security will start to wonder why they don’t ever see him come in through the front. Jumping out of the bushes, Peter brushes the leaves out of his hair as he finally enters his apartment building, briefly greeting the security guard out front before slipping into the elevator.

He’d already called Ned to tell him everything that had happened with MJ. Ned told him that he did good and not to worry about looking after, and that they’d make sure she was okay when she went back to school tomorrow. For now, Ned urged, Peter should focus on the date - his very first, non-school-related date ever. And MJ would be fine. Of course. Why wouldn’t she be?

The elevator arrives at Peter’s floor and he’s quick to rush into the apartment, much as he had when he’d asked out Liz.

“Aunt May!” he exclaims, interrupting her afternoon reading time. “I need help!”

May can’t help but grin throughout, of course, the process of helping Peter get set up for a date. After the requisite shower, deodorant, and hair gelling, May helps Peter with his wardrobe choices, which end up being simple enough. Just a simple shirt and a jacket, with dark khakis and boots. Don’t overdo it, he’s told. He’s staring at himself in the mirror as May helps him apply cologne to the places he can’t quite reach, making smalltalk as they do.

“So, what’s this girl’s name?” May asks.

“Betty,” he says. “Betty Brant.”

“Hmm.” May sprays some cologne inside his jacket. “I’ve never heard of her before.”

“She’s in the broadcasting club. She’s on the monitors every morning.”

“Oh, the blonde girl?” May recalls.

“Yeah.”

“She’s cute.” May smiles, giving Peter a big kiss on the cheek. “You’re getting awfully popular with the ladies these days, aren’t you?”

“Only with the ladies crazy enough to get near me.” Peter smiles back. “Besides, this one… knows who I am.”

“Really?” May nods. “When did that happen?”

“Yesterday.”

“And you asked her out today?”

“Yeah.”

May puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder in a comforting way. “Just don’t rush into too many things, Peter.”

“May, you know that’s basically impossible.” Peter grimaces, thinking about just how many scrapes he’d been in just the past few weeks alone.

“Time management is an important skill.”

“I know.”

May pats him on the shoulder and turns toward the kitchen, ready to cook a dinner for one. “Take care of yourself, Peter.”

“Always.”

\--

Betty waits for five minutes by the subway station. 

It feels like the longest five minutes of her life. Throughout it all, she wonders if Peter had decided to ditch the date without telling her. That doesn’t sound like something he’d do, but her mind keeps thinking about things that might happen while he’s on his way. What if there’s a crime that needed to be stopped? What if the Avengers call him and he has to fly all the way out to Sokovia (is that still a place that exists) to stop some evil robots? What if Captain America strikes out again and they need help? What if aliens invade and another Incident takes place?

All the possible cantankerous conclusions she can draw from Peter Parker being late are drawn in her mind. And the worst one, of course: what if he’d lost interest? That one scared her the most.

But, of course, it’s all for nothing. Because he’s just turned the corner. And he’s wearing a dorky shirt with a quote from the Big Bang Theory and he’s lugging around a messenger bag with pins on it and he’s got a doofy smile on his face and suddenly everything's right in the world again and she remembers why she wanted to ask him out.

He stops right in front of her and he whistles. “You look good. That’s a _great_ outfit.”

The blush that she hates returns. “Thanks. You look good, too. Kinda dorky.”

“That’s how I like it.”

“Me, too.”

The two look at each other for a moment, before they both let out a chuckle. “This is kinda weird, isn’t it? I’m not the only one that feels it, right?” Peter is quick to ask.

“No, yeah.” Betty smiles. “It _is_ weird. Knowing what I know. You being, you know, who you are.” She grabs Peter’s hand and squeezes it, smiling. “But we’ll make it work. Right?”

Peter grins. “Right.”

Betty leads Peter up into the subway where the two briefly wait for the R Train. As they board, they take one of the two-seaters, content to be alone and making smalltalk as they make their way - with increasing speed - towards Long Island City.

“What movie are we watching?” Betty asks.

“Oh, uh-” Peter sheepishly scratches the back of his head. “I don’t know if you’re going to like it, but we’re going to an indie theater that plays old movies. So, I picked a classic.”

“A classic? Like _Gone with the Wind_?”

“Not quite that old. _Empire Strikes Back_.”

“Ah,” Betty says, smiling. “My favorite _Star Wars_ movie.”

“I knew there was a reason I asked you out.” Peter says, smiling back.

It isn’t too long until they reach Long Island City and the pair depart the train station with increased vigor, as they trade jokes about Star Wars and how Betty had a crush on Luke Skywalker when she was a kid. Which Peter say is okay because _Spider-Man is way better than any Jedi could ever hope to be_. Betty Brant agrees and bats her eyelashes.

The pair walk through the city streets, Betty really taking in the sights. “You know I’ve never been here before?” she comments.

“Really?”

“Yeah. The buildings are a lot taller.”

“They’re mostly high-rises.”

“And the neighborhood looks a lot nicer, too.”

“Gentrification at work.”

They’re getting closer to the theater now. A flock of pigeons block their path, but fly away as soon as the two of them begin to encroach on their territory. 

“Do you head out here often?” Betty asks, pulling up her hood due to a wind spike.

“Not too often,” Peter says, putting his hands in his pockets. It’s awfully brisk for September. “Just a few times a year. I love this movie theater.”

As they reach their destination, Betty grins. “I can see why!” It’s small, yes, but it’s not rundown like a lot of independent theaters are. This looks like a movie theater that’s built to endure, one that’s been here for probably a century. Its design is a stark contrast to the rest of the more modern buildings around it, looking like something out of the Hollywood Golden Age. Red carpet, big lights, movie names in all their glory. It’s perfect. Especially for a date.

“Wanna head in?” Peter suggests.

“Of course!” Betty exclaims. Peter grabs her hand and the two open the doors, like two kids going inside a candy shop.

They grab popcorn, get drinks, and are seated in record time. Betty’s impressed with how well of an operation the theater managers seem to be running. The ushers even smile. They smile! Betty and Peter sequester themselves near the back, where they won’t draw too much attention. As Betty sits down, she realizes that these are reclining leather seats. Wow, Peter Parker sure doesn’t spare any expense when it comes to dates!

As the curtains open up and the theater darkens, Betty can feel Peter’s fingers on her hand. She suddenly finds herself at a loss for breath and her pace quickens. She flips her hand over and he laces his fingers over hers, holding hands in the back of a not-so-crowded theater. Betty turns to look at him, his handsome face a more seemly sight than even the cinematic classic they’re about to watch. Peter similarly looks at Betty and smiles. Betty smiles back. 

Absolutely nothing can go wrong.

\--

Ned’s up late, spending maybe a little too much time than would be considered decent playing video games on a Friday night. There’s a part of him that sorta wishes that he has Peter Parker’s life: superhero, good-looking, smart, going on a date. But then he remembers that he also saved Peter Parker’s life more than a handful of times and that he’s basically Wayne from _Kim Possible_ and _Kim Possible_ is probably his favorite show from his childhood. So, he’s okay. Besides, someone’s gotta play Hanzo competently, right?

His phone rings. On reflex, he answers it - expecting it to be Peter. He’s about the only who calls him. Probably nerves or something about the date with Betty.

“Yeah?” he says. “Can you make it quick? I’m trying to mop the floor with this Reinhardt, but this Mercy’s making it _real_ tough-”

“Ned.”

The voice isn’t Peter’s. In fact, it’s not even a guy’s voice - so that rules out Abraham making a prank call or Flash asking him what homework they’re supposed to do over the weekend or Charles needing to rant about the latest episode of whatever anime series he’s found himself enraptured with this week. And it certainly isn’t Sally who’ll occasionally call him out of the blue to ask if he knows where Cindy and/or Liz are. And it’s not either of them, so…

“Ned?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s MJ.”

“Yeah.”

“You were quiet there for a second.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s usually my role.”

“Until you butt in without asking.”

“Kinda like what I’m doing now.”

“Yeah.”

“Playing Overwatch?”

“Yeah.”

“Stop playing.”

Sighing, Ned resigns himself, watching in dismay as Reinhardt pops his ult and charges, killing his Hanzo. Despondently, the game shows its DEFEAT screen in big red letters. He exits the game, irritatingly answering MJ’s call for… whatever inane thing it happens to be she’s calling about.

“I need to tell you about something that happened to me today.”

“Why are you calling me?”

“...Parker wasn’t answering his phone.”

Ned grimaces. “Glad to know that I’m well-valued around here.”

“I called you, didn’t I?”

“Sure, whatever. What do you want to talk about?”

“Ned,” she says, her tone suddenly seriously. “What do you know about Spider-Man?”

\--

“You know, I forgot how _awesome_ that fight scene between Luke and Vader is!”

“Peter, how could you forget? It’s the best lightsaber duel in the entire trilogy.”

“I’m kind of a weirdo. My favorite movie’s _Return of the Jedi_.”

“No… really?”

“I thought you’d like it! It’s got cute cuddly little Ewoks.”

“Hey, I like the rough-and-tumble stuff, too, you know!”

“Every time I talk to you, Ms. Brant, I like you more and more.”

“Then we better go on more dates then, Mr. Parker.”

“That we should _definitely_ do.”

Peter and Betty go arm-in-arm down the street toward the restaurant that Peter picked out for their date. It’s a fairly fancy place by his standards, a new startup that’s part of a wave of small business owners moving into Queens territories. Or, at least, that’s what it sounds like from the New York Times article that Peter glanced at to get to know the place a little better. Is it weird that he looks up articles on restaurants that he goes to? Ugh, that probably makes him a weirdo nerd. Although, thinking on it, Betty’s exposed herself as quite the geek this evening. So, maybe - just maybe - Peter Parker may finally have found someone who’s as much of an intellectual aggregate as he is.

Though he doesn’t know if he’s using the word “aggregate” correctly.

“This is a _nice_ looking restaurant, Peter!” Betty says with vigor, as she marvels at the art deco style. “And how did you know I liked Italian?”

“Well, you’re dating me, aren’t you?” Peter says, shrugging animatedly.

“You’re Italian?”

“Well, I’m sorta Italian. My aunt’s Italian. So, by cultural proxy, I’m Italian. Or something like that.” Peter shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure I’m Irish since, you know, Catholic working-class and all that.”

Betty smiles genuinely, covering her mouth as she begins to laugh. She cups his cheek. “You are adorable, Peter Parker.”

“Right back at you, Betty Brant!” Peter says.

Betty laughs a little more walking in front of Peter and turning around. “Come on!” she exclaims, walking backward towards the entrance. “Let’s get in there before people take the good seats-”

“Betty, look out!”

“Huh? Oh-!”

Betty collides with someone behind her, not with enough force to knock them down, but definitely hard enough that she feels like she might’ve accidentally tumbled towards the sidewalk. It’s evident on Betty’s face that she’s not sure how _anyone_ could’ve collided with her, given how slow she was walking backwards unless they _really_ weren’t paying attention. Betty looks behind her and she’s answered.

Betty Brant had walked into a blind man who’s now fumbling on the ground for his glasses. 

Involuntarily, she places her hands over her mouth in shock and guilt. “Oh my God!” she exclaims. “I’m so sorry!” She helps the man - a tall individual, handsome and well-built, with auburn hair and wearing a thick suit - recover his glasses, a pair of circular red lenses. Very distinctive. He’s carrying a briefcase and a walking stick, folded up at the moment, and he graciously accepts the glasses from Betty. He puts them on, giving her a gentle smile.

“Thank you,” he says in a calm, measured tone.

“I’m really sorry about bumping into you, sir.” Betty’s tone is genuine and heartfelt. Peter rushes up beside her.

“You okay, Betty?” he asks, casting a glance at the tall man. When Peter arrives, it’s as if there’s a burning sensation on the back of his neck - like there’s something not quite right. Peter swears he sees a flicker of an emotion on the man’s face, like he’d sniffed out something wrong in the air, as well.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Peter. Thanks.” She turns back to the man, noticing that he has a cut on his lip. “Oh gosh, I didn’t cause that did I?”

“What? Oh, you mean this.” The man places a finger toward his lip. “No, no. This was… I cut myself shaving. No worries.”

“I’m sorry again.”

“Apology’s been accepted. At least twice now.” He laughs. “Don’t worry. It’s fine.” Betty smiles back, before realizing he probably can’t see her. “Anyway-” He turns toward the restaurant, though not in a straight line toward the entrance. “-have a nice evening.” He walks in through the front door.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” Betty says. “I should really be more careful.”

“Yeah…” Peter’s staring at the entrance with suspicious, though not exactly smoldering eyes. Betty finds it kinda hot, but knows that something’s running through the boy’s mind.

“What is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re staring at the guy.” She follows his gaze. “Or you’re staring at the entrance where the guy walked in.”

“I just have a bad feeling is all,” Peter says vaguely.

“A bad feeling?” Betty cocks her head.

“I have this, uh, extrasensory thing I have,” he explains. “Just something that triggers when a bad thing happens or is about to happen.”

“It went off around that guy?”

“Yeah.” He shakes his head. “But it’s probably nothing. Just warning you about the fall. It went off kinda _late_ , though.”

Betty contemplates that for a second, but she grabs his hand. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s talk about it over some spaghetti, alright?”

So, the pair walk in. They get served to a table near the window in the corner, so they’re about as sequestered as a pair of teenagers can possibly be in a busy Italian restaurant. Still, Peter’s quick to make sure that he’s within eyesight of the strange blind man with the glasses, who seems to be patiently waiting as he presses his fingers against the pages of a paper, doubtlessly reading the braille. The two order and Betty leans into Peter when the waiter leaves.

“Tell me about this sense,” she urges quietly.

“Sometimes I get this sensation in the back of my head, like a-” He wiggles his hand, like that’s going to help. “-like vertigo suddenly hits me, you know?”

“Tingling?” Betty offers up.

“Exactly! Uh. Good verb. Or gerund, I guess.” He doesn’t know what gerunds are.

“So, it’s some kind of tingling… Spider Sense?”

“You’re on fire today with the names.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Peter confirms. “My Spider Sense was… tingling.”

Betty throws a glance at the guy, whose head tilts slightly in the pair’s direction - as if he detects that they’re talking about him. It’s strange… and more than a little creepy, considering that they’re pretty much on the exact opposite end of the room. “What about him feels off?” Betty asks.

“I dunno, but-” Peter grabs the side of his head in pain, and his eyes widen. “Oh, no.” At the same time, Peter can see that the man’s turned his nose up, as well, like he’s detecting the unspecified danger.

“Peter, what’s wrong-”

“Get down!” He pushes Betty against her seat and just in time because every window in the restaurant suddenly implodes, shattering into tiny sharp pieces. Peter’s shielding saves Betty from the brunt of the impact, only a few shards landing on her dress. “Stay against your seat!”

Screams are everywhere now, just as an individual - who Peter failed to notice at first - stands up from somewhere in the back of the restaurant. He’s wearing a trenchcoat and raising his arms, which are covered in a strange metal contraption. He throws off the trench coat, revealing a yellow suit of body armor with knitted, red crisscrossing patterns. Peter’s seen that design before and he knows those gauntlets. They look more advanced, more sophisticated - but definitely familair.

“Shocker,” he mutters. He remembers the police report Karen gave him. Herman Schultz, alias “The Shocker.” He’s supposed to be locked up in Ryker’s with Adrian Toomes. Why the hell is here now? Has he been following them? Spider Sense says no; his attention is elsewhere. He’s looking around the room, and not for Spider-Man.

“Peter…?” Betty asks.

“We’re in trouble,” he whispers. “This guy’s an associate of Adrian Toomes.”

Her eyes widen. “Liz’s dad?”

“Yeah, the Vulture,” he mumbles, trying to trace with his eyes an optimal route to the bathroom or the back of the building that won’t get his guts blown out by the Shocker and his new-and-improved gauntlets.

“Will the blind lawyer please give himself up? You know who you are! It’s an awfully specific set of qualifiers!” calls out the Shocker. “I promise that I won’t hurt you too badly!”

“He’s looking for the blind guy,” Betty says.

“Yeah,” Peter says, turning his attention to where the blind man is… or was, apparently. Because he’s nowhere to be found. Nada. Zilch. Like he just straight-up ninja’d out of there. Very suspicious. “He’s gone.”

“What?”

“The blind guy,” Peter says. “He’s disappeared.”

“How can he…?”

“Once again, I’m looking for the blind lawyer!” says the Shocker, grabbing an innocent woman by her blonde hair - causing her to yelp and scream. Peter grits his teeth. There’s gotta be a way to get into his suit. “I don’t want to hurt people, but… well, I _kinda_ do. But I know you don’t want that, being a servant of justice and everything.”

Peter points his web-shooter at the Shocker. He can’t risk this. Even if he’s got to expose himself, he’s got to save her life-

But his Spider Sense tingles and he sees what looks like a red baton fly through the air and hit the Shocker right in the face, causing him to loosen his grip on the woman, who scrambles away in terror. Peter swivels to see where the baton came from and, jumping in through the window is a red-horned superhero, wielding a retractable pair of billy-clubs.

Peter gapes. “Holy-”

“-shit!” Betty finishes.

“Maybe we should take this outside,” Daredevil says, standing tall.


	5. At First Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! The end-of-summer crunch of activities is something that has to be seen to be believed. There's also some major Canon Divergence happening starting from this chapter, mostly having to do with the Defenders and me realizing how incompatible events from the ending of that series is with the timeline I established in this story. So, for the moment, let's all pretend that things are a little more hunky-dory after the way that show ended!

Matt Murdock doesn’t know how he got into this situation.

Karen Page is a good friend, that much is clear. But her job at the New York Bulletin keeps her so busy that it’s hard to really get a grasp on her schedule. Which leads to embarrassing situations where Matt books a dinner reservation at a quaint Long Island City restaurant only for Karen to call him and tell him that something-or-other has occupied her time. With regret and longing, Matt decides to just go and get something nice to eat, anyway, despite his usual lack of funds. If he’s feeling particularly desperate, he might just ask Danny for money help. Er, scratch that. That sounds like a _terrible_ idea.

He did think about inviting Luke but, for one reason or another, he figures that he might want to stay up in Harlem. Foggy’s busy - busier than Matt is these days - and he’s not sure if his best friend is still entirely comfortable being, you know, his best friend. And Jessica, yeah, that’s not happening. So, Matt is left to reflect on his strange life all by himself. He’s almost certain that his social connections are all about to go kaput, but he perseveres and trusts that things will work themselves out. They always do, even if it means that Matt has to go out every night beating people up.

After the whole blowing up Midland Circle thing, Matt just needs to have a quiet night for once. Spend some time in a restaurant far away from where he does his usual antics, and after his near-death experience in a tunnel with Elektra (whose current location always seems to escape his knowledge), everyone was relieved to know that he was still alive, though he reflected with good humor that he was gone for three days. It’s funny how fast people get used to Matt Murdock coming back from the dead. But, for now, he just wants to relax and let the pleasant odors from the kitchen waft their way into his nose, before settling in for a nice dinner. Things were going to be great.

But, of course, they never stay that way.

Just as soon as he enters the restaurant, he notices a strange odor in the air. Like copper wiring infused with a scent that he’s never smelled before. Scratch that, he _has_ smelled it before but it had been a few years since he’s smelled anything like it. Matt tries to remember where he’s smelled that scent before and, as he does so, begins to hear - from that same corner of the room - the slight shifting of metal. Immediately, Matt tenses up. His first instinct is to assume it’s some kind of gun, but if it is, then it’s one he’s never encountered before. It sounds like there’s a pressurized lever of some sort and, guessing by the sweat coming from its wielder, an incredibly itchy trigger finger. Add that to what seems to be the naturally dyed kevlar and Matt gets very nervous very quickly.

Still, it takes Matt a little longer than he would’ve wanted in order to recognize the threat because of the restaurant’s naturally “noisy” nature. Aside from the amplified sound of dinner conversation, the _smell_ is particularly distracting. Not to say that the food doesn’t smell good - it smells _great_ , actually - but it throws Matt off just long enough to delay what might be a timely escape. Before he can stand up and leave the restaurant - and minimize any threat to the people there - the figure gets up and squeezes the trigger. The resulting sonic wave nearly overloads his eardrums and he shouts out in pain, but he has the wherewithal to flip the table and hide himself.

He peeks out and “sees” the figure, adorned in... quilted (?) body armor and hefting two metal gauntlets. The man’s paying attention to perhaps too many things at once and Matt gets the feeling that, perhaps, he isn’t quite used to the equipment he has on at the moment. Using this to his advantage, Matt sticks to the shadows - easy because the sonic blast had destroyed the light fixtures - and darts out of the restaurant as soon as he can. The figure’s heart rate is going a mile a minute, he can sense, and Matt drags his armor out of his suitcase in record time as he hides in the nearby alleyway. More often than he’d like, Matt is glad that he invested in this extra large attache case.

Quickly putting it on, he takes out his billy clubs and rushes toward the restaurant. Not even facing his direction, Daredevil flings a club through the window and hits the figure in the head with his billy club before it bounces back toward him.

Setting his teeth against each other, he stands tall.

“Maybe we should take this outside,” he says.

\--

Herman Schultz doesn’t know how he got into this situation.

Or, rather, he _does_ know but he’s not exactly sure how it escalated to this point. The job had been simple: Wilson Fisk gets him out of prison in order to tag a guy named Matt Murdock, a lawyer who operates out of Hell’s Kitchen. After spying on Murdock for a little while, some intel came his way - just hearsay he received from one of Toomes’ old contacts, some lowlife named Turk Barrett - that Murdock would, uncharacteristically, be having dinner in Long Island City. Usually, the man never leaves the ten blocks of Manhattan that his lawyering business services, but this was an exception. So, Herman and Phineas got to quick work.

Phineas had already been hard at work on making improvements to the shock gauntlets that Herman inherited from Brice. Instead of the electricity-infused pneumatics that powered the original, the new pair were built from salvaged Hammer Industries tech. Apparently, there had been a fight up in Harlem between that one bulletproof guy and a dude decked out in power armor, and one of the leftovers was a pair of gauntlets. While the power cores were mostly fried, the internals were perfectly intact. Combined with some leftover Stark Industries sonic cannons salvaged from Culver University years prior, Phineas created the Vibro-Shock Gauntlets 2.0, which are a huge improvement over the original. Also, there was a new bulletproof suit! Phineas was even thoughtful enough to pattern it after Herman’s jacket, yellow quilts and all.

It was supposed to be simple.

But Herman realizes that his life is probably never going to be simple again. The old days of cleaning up accidents are clearly long behind him. And, as he holds aloft his gauntlets, he’s becoming more and more aware of just how much shit he’s going to have to deal with as a supervillain. If he could even be called that.

“Who the hell are you supposed to be?” Herman asks with gritted teeth.

“Let’s step outside,” the man in the red mask says, calmly. Herman’s beginning to realize just how much he _hates_ the color red. “Come on.”

“Yeah,” Herman says, slowly. “I’m not listening to you.”

Herman squeezes his hands, activating the pressure triggers beneath his fingers. The gauntlets rumble for the briefest moment - a moment where Herman _swears_ he sees the red figure tilt his head even though he has no way of knowing what he’d just done - and Herman watches as a stream of pure kinetic energy come barrelling out of his fists. Herman has to stand his ground, keeping his boots firmly planted. The kickback from these new weapons are crazy, but their destructive potential - as Herman’s assessed - is well worth how unruly they can be to use.

Somehow, the figure seems to react at lightning speed, dodging out of the way of the blast - though the resulting wave of kinetics blows a number of chairs and tables out of the restaurant and, in a moment, the restaurant patrons are again screaming for their lives. Herman curses, waiting for the briefest second to see if the red figure will return. He takes a tentative few steps forward, poking his head outside the window to see where he had gone. 

Just as soon as he does, he feels a pressure constrict around his throat as the man’s retractable billy club is used as a makeshift lasso, wrapping around his neck. Herman would choke, but thankfully Phineas’ new suit is thick enough that he only feels a moderate pain instead of excruciating agony. Still, Herman feels the rope being yanked and he feels himself lifted off of his feet and pulled out of the restaurant which is impressive considering how heavy he is in the suit.

Clearly, whoever he’s fighting doesn’t skip the lat pulldowns.

Landing on his front, he quickly fires off a few shockwaves in random directions. That’s enough to loosen the grip on his neck and, annoyed, he pulls off the billy club. Before he can get his hands on the club itself, however, it’s pulled from his grasp. Herman stands up, feeling only a little worse for wear, and looks at the figure in red, now standing maybe fifteen feet away - bow-legged, like he’s ready to pounce at any moment - calm and confident. Herman decides he hates that.

He levels the gauntlets at this assailant. “No time for introductions?” he implores. “I took up _Shocker_ not too long ago. Pretty good name for a supervillain, don’t you think? Usually, you heroes have the stupider names.”

The man in red smiles, maybe a little too fast, as he raises his billy club. “The people of Hell’s Kitchen call me Daredevil.”

 _Damn. That_ is _a cool name._ “A little far away from home, aren’t you?”

“I don’t discriminate based on borough.”

\--

Peter and Betty don’t know how they got into this situation.

“This was supposed to be a date,” Peter mumbles to himself. “It was supposed to be a normal, non-super, non-dangerous, non-spidery date.”

Betty seems to catch what he says out of the corner of her ear despite Peter’s efforts. She reaches over and squeezes his hand. “Hey,” she whispers, the pair sticking close together in the corner. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.”

“We don’t know that yet,” he says, lowly. Betty furrows her brow.

“Chin up,” she says, bumping his chin upwards to face her. “You’ve got a job to do.”

Peter’s face begins to clear up and, gazing into her blue eyes, he can’t help but feel a little better. He smiles. Betty returns his smile and she notices that his hand seems to be getting warmer. Or, wait, no. That’s not his hand. That’s _her_ hand that’s getting warmer and it seems to be spreading through her body, up to her cheeks - which have turned red. Betty bites her lip, her mind grasping as it begins to realize _just how_ _cute_ Peter Parker is.

Betty stands up, still holding Peter by the hand. She runs across the restaurant until the two of them reach the aisle with the bathroom. Thankfully, no one seems to be paying them much attention as a number of other patrons begin to similarly move about, using the fact that the fight between Daredevil and the Shocker had moved outside as a reason to start running away. Betty pushes Peter into the bathroom and enters. Fortunately, there’s no one else inside.

She wipes the sweat that she hadn’t realized had been forming from her forehead. “Okay,” she says. “Hero time.”

Peter grins, like every life choice he’s taken up to this point has been justified by the determination that he sees in Betty’s eyes. “I love you,” he says, though he doesn’t realize exactly what he’s said until after he’s said it. They both pause for a second and stare at each other, before an awkward laugh escapes Peter’s mouth. “I meant, I mean-”

Betty does what her heart tells her to do, despite the protests of every other muscle in her body. Leaning forward quickly, she presses her lips up against Peter’s. The next second seems to last an eternity. Betty’s lips are so soft, Peter thinks, and he wonders why they taste so good. He opens his mouth ever so slightly and he finds that Betty’s tongue instinctively seems to lash out towards his own. Peter, at first struck by surprise, grips Betty by the waist, tightly, and her hands find themselves lifting up his shirt. He leans into the kiss before he’s interrupted by his own shirt, Betty finishing pulling it up. She takes the briefest moment to gawk at his physique, the abs and chiseled musculature a far cry from Peter’s normally nerdy persona. Peter looks her in the eye. Betty looks back.

“That was-” Peter begins.

“- _fucking_ hot.”

Betty’s eyes go wide at what she just said. Peter has to suppress a smirk as Betty’s face quickly turns red. “I mean…” Betty mumbles under her breath.

Peter grins. “You are _so_ cute.”

“Am not.”

“You _are_.”

Shyly, Betty smiles before shaking her head. She reaches into Peter’s messenger bag, rummages for a moment, and pulls out his mask. “Come on,” she says with a smile. Peter grins back and pulls off his pants. Betty, not quite shamelessly, watches Peter strip down to his undies briefly - the moment cementing pleasantly into her mind - before he pulls on his Spider-Man suit. Betty is surprised to see how loose fitting it is for a moment, just as Peter slaps the symbol on his chest and the suit seems to fit perfectly to his form.

“Wow,” she says. “That’s super useful.”

“Yeah,” Peter replies. “Doesn’t leave much to the imagination, though.”

“Not such a bad thing.” Betty briefly pulls up Peter’s mask and plants a kiss on his lips. “Go,” she whispers. Peter grins before pulling down the mask and zipping out through the window. Once Peter’s gone, Betty finally has some time to breathe. She hadn’t realized just how fast her heart beat had been going. She inhales, then exhales, putting Peter’s clothes into his bag. Betty’s done her part. It’s time for Peter to do his.

Karen giggles, the sound of which almost seems to tickle his ear. “Well, Peter…” Karen begins to say.

“Don’t say it,” he counters, rounding the corner.

Karen pauses before ignoring her master’s command. “Score,” she says, lowly. Despite himself, Peter can’t help but smile. It’s enough to get him in a positive mood just as he approaches the situation, Shocker and Daredevil in the thick of a battle. 

Shocker does what he does, blasting Daredevil with row upon row of sonic blasts, while Daredevil - true to his reputation - dodges them with swift grace. Peter can tell that Daredevil’s clearly a better fighter and much more agile than Shocker, but he wonders whether that’s going to be enough against Shocker’s new and improved tech. After all, Peter’s not totally sure if he can comfortably stop this situation. Through his suit’s augmented optics, he scans the Shocker’s new suit. It’s better to be cautious, he decides, and through his scans he can see a number of concerning developments.

“Karen,” he says seriously. “What am I looking at here?”

Calmly, Karen speaks. “It appears that Stark Industries sonic technology has been interlaced through Herman Schultz’s new gauntlets.”

“The same stuff that War Machine uses, right?”

“That would be correct. Although, it seems that these new gauntlets amplify them to dangerously unsafe levels.”

Peter bites his lip, climbing up on top of the restaurant’s roof in an effort to better assess the situation. He vaguely recalls seeing Colonel Rhodes using them during the fight at the airport - which, honestly, feels like it happened a lifetime ago - and they were dangerous then, too. If these weapons show up on the streets again…

He shakes his head.

“I’ve gotta get in there,” Peter mumbles. “Karen, can you pinpoint any weaknesses?”

“Unfortunately, the Shocker is moving too fast to get an accurate read.”

“Crap,” comes the answer. “The usual should work, right?”

“If by ‘the usual,’ you mean jump in and hope that things work out, then… maybe?” Karen’s tone is flighty, like she thinks she’s being really funny.

“Is that…” Peter blinks. “...sass?”

“It may very well be, Peter.” Karen’s tone is, once again, alarmingly flighty. Peter wonders if he’s going to have to recalibrate his A.I. He shakes his head. Focus. Now’s not the time to worry about this.

Okay, at the moment, it seems like Daredevil and the Shocker are pretty evenly matched. So, Peter figures that if he goes and aids the older superhero, then things should work out relatively fine. Relatively. He hopes. Gulping, he jumps high into the air and somersaults. Daredevil momentarily stops, like he’s detecting Peter - although that should be impossible since he’s out of his sightline - before returning to a defensive stance. Peter, after a fashion, lands behind the Shocker.

“Hey, quilt-face!” he shouts.

Shocker whips around and Peter doesn’t have to see his eyes to know that he’s surprised. “Oh, shit-” Peter quickly _thwips_ a bunch of webbing to his mask, clogging his optics, before he fires off a multitude of web strands toward his gauntlets, pasting them together in a pair of pseudo-cuffs. Peter sprays a line of webbing through them more, covering them in more and more gunk that - hopefully - will make the machinery inoperable.

“I have the worst luck,” Shocker says under his breath as Peter pushes him to the ground and sticks him there.

“Well,” Peter says. “That was easier than expected!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Betty watching him from the restaurant window. Betty is smiling and waving at him. Peter waves back. She can’t see him, but he’s grinning. All in all, Peter’s pretty proud of how quickly he resolved the situation. Usually, something goes wrong. Not this time! This time, no one’s hurt and he did everything in, like, five seconds flat.

“You’ve got fans,” says a voice beside him, observant. Oh, right. He forgot about Daredevil.

“Yeah, uh, it’s a thing I have.” Peter scratches the back of his neck. “Don’t you have fans, Mr. Daredevil, sir?”

“No, I…” The red-suited man pauses for a moment, like he’s unsure of who he’s speaking to. For a moment, Peter’s worried. Did his voice give it away? How would Daredevil even know his voice? “...I don’t really have _fans_ , per se.”

“That’s… a shame. Fans are nice.” Uh oh. Things are getting awkward. Change the subject! “Oh, right! That blind lawyer. Do you know where he went? The Shocker was looking for him.”

“Yeah, I… got him out of there.”

“Really? I didn’t see you.”

“I’m stealthy like that.” Daredevil smirks. After what appears to be a brief moment of consideration, he holds out a welcoming hand. “Anyway, I don’t think we’ve met. People call me Daredevil.”

Peter stares at the hand for a few seconds, like he’s just now realizing how weird it is to be a part of the New York City superhero fraternity. He shakes it, a little unsteadily. “Right. I’m, uh, Spider-Man! Yeah, Spider-Man. That’s me!” _Oh, God. Get a grip, Peter_. “Nice to meet you. I, uh, usually don’t see you out in Queens.”

“Well, I needed a change of scenery.”

“Good timing, eh?”

“I suppose.”

The brief moment of reverie, however, is interrupted when Peter finds himself being pushed aside by Daredevil. At first, Peter wonders if Daredevil was a baddie all along and he’s now shown his true colors (which are presumably _not_ red) in a cunning ambush, but then he realizes that his Spider Sense - which is a little late to the party this time - is not tingling in the direction of the red-horned man, but from… shit. Peter quickly turns to look at the Shocker, who - on his knees - is slamming his fists together. He can see the air shift between his gauntlets and Peter’s eyes widen, dashing toward him.

Too late, however, because Shocker slams his gauntlets together one last time to create a sonic wave that puts both of the red-costumed heroes on their asses. Huffing, he directs the gauntlets toward the restaurant. With horror, Peter sees him shoot a concentrated blast of sonic energy towards one of the support pillars, which cracks under the pressure. The building’s going to collapse, as his blaring Spider Sense seems keen on telling him.

“See ya later, suckers!” Shocker shouts as he flees the scene, bolting from the scene as fast as possible. Daredevil, at first, seems to edge toward him but turns his attention toward the collapsing building, now filled with the screams of terrified New Yorkers.

Peter rushes there, too, but is unsure of what to do.

“You’re strong, right?” Daredevil asks, suddenly. Peter isn’t sure what he means. Is he making a philosophical statement in the middle of a crisis? Because that’s really not cool.

“Uh, I guess?”

“I mean physically strong. I’ve seen the videos. You can hold up a building?”

“Yeah!” Peter replies with confidence, recalling for the umpteenth time when he was forced by circumstance to lift a weight he didn’t realize he was capable of lifting.

“Then go and try to keep the pillar from collapsing. Hug it, make it stick together. Do whatever you can! I’ll evacuate the civilians!” Without even acknowledging Peter, Daredevil runs into the building with no measure of hesitation.

“R-right!” Peter goes to the collapsing Pillar, severely cracked and about to break at any moment. “Okay, okay… any advice, Karen?”

Karen pipes up. “Webbing up concrete isn’t likely to maintain structural integrity, but it should slow the process down considerably. If you support it with your body weight-”

“Got it!” Peter begins wrapping a webline around the structure, spraying as much webbing as he can before promptly… running out. Gasping, he reaches at his belt for more web fluid… but the pillar suddenly breaks loose and the building begins to lurch. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see people being ushered by Daredevil out of the building and he realizes he doesn’t have time to reload or _people are going to die_.

This realization is what prompts Peter to do something really stupid. He props himself against the pillar and leans into it from the ceiling, acting as a makeshift stopgap between the insecure part of the pillar and the rest of the building. It hurts. It hurts a lot. And he can feel his muscles stretching. Not as bad as before, but _bad_. 

Straining, he sees Daredevil getting Betty out of the building. That makes Peter smile. Especially since Betty’s looking at him with those eyes. Those eyes that say that he can do it. _Come on, Parker_. _Hold on. Hold on!_

It takes an agonizing few more seconds before Daredevil has secured the building and ensured that nobody was left inside. “Okay!” he shouts. “Spider-Man, you can let go!”

“Alright!” Peter croaks out weakly. He lets go and immediately he feels the shifting of concrete. As quickly as he can, he rolls out of the way and onto the sidewalk with little time to spare. Within a few seconds, the building begins to lurch and drop, the ceiling falling on top of expensive-looking tables and wine shelves disintegrating upon impact with the floor. Peter waves a hand in front of his face as the massive amount of dust creates clouds in front of him. Shakily, he stands up.

“Wow,” he manages to get out before someone tackles him from behind, wrapping their arms around him. Considering the situation, he can only assume it’s Betty and he smiles, even though she can’t see his face.

“Thank God, you’re okay,” she mumbles, her face pressed up against his shoulder blades.

“Yeah, I-” He clears his throat, putting on a deeper voice. “Yes, good citizen! It’s all part of the job. Protecting the people of New York City is my sworn duty. Which I’ve upheld today.”

Despite herself, he can feel Betty begin to laugh against his back. Karen also begins to chuckle, the sound tickling his ear once again. “Your fake voice is very cute,” she notes.

Daredevil slowly walks toward Peter. “Groupie?” he asks, gesturing to Betty. Blushing, she pulls away from Peter, embarrassed, and goes toward the rest of the people, saved from being crushed to death.

“Something like that,” Peter says, voice going back to normal. “Did you see where the Shocker went?”

Daredevil shakes his head. “No.” He puts his hands on his hips, looking at Peter with an… is that an expression of disappointment? “I was kind of hoping your webbing would be up to snuff.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“I trusted that your webbing would be strong enough to hold the Shocker, but he cut through it pretty quickly. I heard that it held the Staten Island Ferry together.” _For a few seconds_ , Peter doesn’t say. _And then Iron Man had to come and save me_.

“It wasn’t a problem before,” Peter argues. “When I fought him last time-”

“Wasn’t it pretty clear that this wasn’t last time?” Daredevil says. He puts two fingers up to his nose. “Now we’ve got a guy with pretty high tech equipment running around looking for a blind lawyer. And that’s going to be an issue for me.”

“The blind lawyer…” Peter says cautiously, as Betty peers at Daredevil behind his back, clearly listening in on the conversation. “...you know him?”

“He lives in Hell’s Kitchen,” Daredevil says. “Yeah. I know him. I just don’t want to have to clean up your-” He trails off, but Peter knows what he was going to say. _Your mess_. Peter suddenly feels like he’s back in third grade during the spelling bee and butterflies are exploding in his stomach. He’s screwed up. Again.

“It’s fine,” Daredevil says. “Forget about it.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I was trying my best.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I know. It’s just… there’s kind of an unspoken rule. People like us tend to stay within our own little spheres. Our little universes. Ours just collided, and not in a good way. I don’t regularly fight guys like the Shocker. Even my friend Luke doesn’t, though he has more experience with this stuff than I do.” Daredevil, for the first time, looks a little antsy - like he’s walked into something he rather wishes that he hadn’t. “So, if I’m being a little pessimistic…”

“No, it’s okay.” Peter scratches the back of his head. “This is all still new to me, too. But you’ve been running around doing this a lot longer than me, so… well, I’m kinda like a freshman and you’re a senior. It still feels a little intimidating.”

At that, Daredevil can’t help but smile. “Well, I’m nothing if not intimidating.” He turns away. “I gotta go.”

Peter doesn’t know why he does it, but he takes a step forward. “Keep in touch?” he asks. “Us superheroes have got to stick together, you know?”

Daredevil doesn’t say anything, but Peter does see the smile stay on his face, like he can’t help but be amused by the kid. He darts off, using his grappling sticks to scale the nearby buildings, and disappearing into the night. Betty approaches Peter.

“What was that all about?” she asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” he says. “But I have a bad feeling about this.”

\--

Peter’s decided that he loves kissing. He’s only really kissed, like, one girl before in his life - and Peter’s guessing he was pretty bad at it. But kissing Betty is kind of a drug. It’s addicting. And the potentially negative part of it - which is the fear that Betty might not like how much he enjoys kissing her - is completely nullified, since Betty seems keen to initiate every tongue battle that the two of them have had since the previous night.

“Oh God,” says Ned, interrupting their makeout session in Peter’s living room, entering with Cindy in tow whose face held a more amused expression than Ned’s exasperation. “I knew you two were going to be insufferable, but not _that_ insufferable.”

Peter laughs, and Betty can’t help but giggle as she hugs Peter’s arm. Cindy walks over to Peter and playfully punches Peter’s arm. “You’re moving faster than expected,” she observes.

“Well, my life is measured in how many feet per second I can swing from building to building, so… I kind of have to move pretty fast.” Peter grins.

“Nerd,” Cindy says.

“Fangirl,” he teasingly whispers, to which Betty laughs. Cindy, now a bit more red, punches Peter for real in the shoulder, which registers only slightly more than the previous punch.

Cindy turns to Betty. “Hey, you.”

“Hey.” Betty’s eyes look like they’re sparkling. Immediately, the girls share a giggle.

“Lucky,” Cindy says.

“You have no idea,” Betty whispers.

“I’m right here,” Peter says, deadpan, though he can’t help but feel more than a little self-satisfied at how these girls are treating him.

“Yes, you are,” Betty says, planting another kiss on his lips.

“Remember when you and I were social outcasts?” Ned says to Peter with an incredulous expression on his face. “And you weren’t covered in girls from head to toe.”

“Hey,” Betty says with a smile. “There’s only _one_ girl covering him. The other one’s for moral support.”

“Yeah,” Cindy says, going over to Ned and pinching his cheeks. “Besides, you’re both adorable in different ways. Peter’s like Mr. Hunk and Ned’s like a big cute teddy bear.”

“Wait.” Ned scrunches his nose. “Peter gets to be Mr. Hunk and _I’m_ the teddy bear?”

Peter grins. “I’m okay with that!”

“Peter!” Ned exclaims in despair, much to everyone’s amusement.

After everyone’s calmed down and settled themselves in the living room, Peter leans forward and decides to start this meeting properly. Aunt May is out doing… whatever it is she’s doing, so Peter’s decided to use the apartment as a makeshift meeting space for the four of his compadres that know who he is. “So,” he says. “I’m guessing you heard about what happened on the news.”

Ned nods. Cindy pipes up. “You and Daredevil saved people from a collapsing restaurant, right?” After receiving an affirmative from Peter, Cindy whistles to Betty. “Heck of a first date, huh?”

Betty sheepishly scratches her head. “Yeah…”

“But something else happened, right?” Ned says. “The Shocker was there.”

“And escaped,” Peter says, sighing. “I screwed up. I wasn’t careful.”

“Trying to impress Daredevil?” Ned asks, suddenly. Peter suddenly remembers Ned’s ability to cut right to the heart of the issue.

“Kind of,” Peter says. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The point is, I’ve gotta track this guy.”

“Do you know where he is?” Cindy asks.

“Well, sorta.” Peter pulls out his phone and shows them all what he’s researched so far.

Cindy peers at it. “That… looks like a defunct law firm. Nelson and Murdock. I think I heard about them before while I was taking a journalism internship with the Bulletin. They represented the Punisher case last year.”

“You interned at the Bulletin?” Ned asks, surprised.

“Well, not exactly.” It’s Cindy’s turn to be sheepish. “With their Queens affiliate. Anyway, not the point. What does this dead law firm have to do with the Shocker?”

“We ran into a blind lawyer last night,” Betty says. “The Shocker was looking for him. Daredevil, when he wasn’t being a total jerk, told us that he knew the lawyer and that he lived in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“The list of blind lawyers is already kind of a narrow field, especially blind lawyers who happen to know Daredevil and live in Hell’s Kitchen,” Peter confirms. “So, it wasn’t the hardest thing in the world to figure out.”

“What do you plan on doing?” Ned asks.

Peter smiles. “How often do you guys go to Manhattan?”

\--

While the girls discuss the logistics of where they’d like to visit while taking a trip to the big city, Ned ushers Peter out of the living room and into Peter’s bedroom, where Peter makes sure that he stocks up and reloads his web cartridges. Ned holds an expression of worry on his face.

“What’s wrong, Ned?” Peter asks, using his little reloading device. He really needs to name it something other than “little reloading device.”

“Are you sure we should bring the girls?” Ned asks, though Peter gets the feeling that this is just smalltalk.

“They know who I am,” Peter says. “Plus, they know the city better than we do. And we need a reason for why we’re going into the city and ‘happy fun times with friends’ is as good an excuse as any.”

“I’m just saying,” he says. “The circle of trust is getting wider than I’m comfortable with. The more people know who you are, the more danger we’re _all_ in.”

“Don’t worry,” Peter replies without hesitation. “I’m good for it. And about the girls… look, we could all use a break and Betty… I need to be able to show her I’m more than just a guy that always screws up and has to stop buildings from falling.”

Ned nods, and is silent for a moment. “MJ’s been asking questions,” he finally says.

Peter stops in his tracks. “Questions?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” he says, scratching his neck. “After you saved her yesterday, she was trying to get in contact with you - as in, _you_ , Peter Parker. She called me last night because you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “I was a little busy.”

“I’m just a little concerned,” Ned continues. “This is _another_ girl from school who’s close to figuring out your identity. Aren’t you a worried that, you know-”

“-my secret identity isn’t going to be safe for much longer?” Peter finishes.

“Yeah.”

Peter crosses his arms. He wonders about the repercussions of MJ finding out about who he is. And, honestly, his mind blanks. He doesn’t know MJ nearly as well as he feels that he should. But her finding out probably wouldn’t be good, though he gets the feeling that she isn’t really a tattle. Then again, this is the same girl that protests for fun.

“I don’t know, Ned.” Peter sighs. “We should probably just leave it alone for now. It’s not top priority.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… if people find out-”

“We’ll figure it out if it comes to that.” Peter puts a hand on Ned’s shoulder. “For now, let’s just focus on this, alright?”

“Alright.”

“You know, we should hit up that comic book store while we’re in Manhattan,” Peter says. “I’ve been meaning to pick up some back issues of _Batgirl_ and you’re still reading that weird graphic novel with the robot sex and the breastfeeding.”

“ _Saga_.”

“That’s the one.”

The two best friends share a laugh. When they emerge from the bedroom, the two girls seem about right as rain to go. Betty clings to Peter immediately, while Cindy starts chatting with Ned about all the places she’s thinking of going. Peter smiles. Things are going well. They’re going to relax and go on a fact-finding mission. Things are going well. Things are going well.

He opens the door. Behind it is about the last person Peter wants to see right now.

“Hi,” he says, dragging out the word. “...MJ. W-what are you doing here?”

Michelle stands, dressed uncharacteristically in sunglasses and a sundress, in front of Peter Parker. The rest of Peter’s posse stands with bewildered expressions beside him. “Hey,” Michelle says. “I heard there was a party and so I came.”

Peter turns his head toward Ned slowly. Ned’s look is one of regret and apology. Peter mentally sighs and looks at Michelle with a strained smile. “Well, we were just about to head out, actually.”

“Oh, sweet.” If Michelle detects just how out of place she is, her smiling face doesn’t show it. “Where are you going?”

“Manhattan,” comes the answer, albeit delayed for a second.

“Cool, cool.” Michelle puts her hands on her hip. “You got room for one more?”

Peter slowly looks at Cindy, who has an indifferent expression on her face. Kind of a “why not?” Peter looks at his girlfriend, whose expression is more of amused ambivalence, and shrugs at Peter, clearly deferring to their vaunted “leader.” He sighs.

“Sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! Kinda super nervous about this, since it's my first time writing what will be an ongoing tale so it'll be a bigger commitment than any of my other stories which I can sort of just pick up and write whenever I feel like it. I'm going to try my best to keep a consistent writing schedule with this, so - as Steve said - patience is a virtue. Anyway, thanks for reading! And you know how much I love feedback. That precious, precious feedback.


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